


The Great Glitter Heist of 221B: Metaphorically Speaking, It's Explosive

by Ewebie



Series: Glitter Gang Shenanigans [3]
Category: Great Glitter Gang Heist, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BBCThree is still a cat, But... hashtag sorry not sorry!, I don't even know anymore., I mean... There is literally no explanation for this. None at all, It's not a heist... not really, It's not... even... real?, It's totally not a case, Just Fuck Already, M/M, Magical Realism, Sentient magenta ooze, The great glitter heist of 221B, the crackiest of crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-01 22:31:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 31,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5223431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ewebie/pseuds/Ewebie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Look... There is literally no excuse for this. There was no excuse for the first two. It is just 100% ridiculousness. For a THIRD ROUND of this ridiculousness. But like... There's glitter and cuteness and Kevin the intern and BBCThree as a cat and sentient magenta ooze. Why WOULDN'T you read this?!</p><p>  <i> “Good morning, Dr. Murphy.”</i></p><p>  <i>Oh shit. I knew that voice. That’s why the suits looked familiar. They were cut the same, and a quick glance told me that at least one of thugs was armed. “Morning…” I frowned. “Uh… Still don’t have a name for you.”</i></p><p>  <i>“No.”</i></p><p>  <i>They’d stopped moving, each about ten feet on either flank. “Right. So. Your friends then?” I debated whether or not I’d make it to the top of the fence on the far side of the street. Maybe with a running start.</i></p><p>  <i>“I wouldn’t, Dr. Murphy.”</i><br/> <br/><i>I swallowed. Right. “And what would you have me do?”</i></p><p>  <i>A large, black sedan with tinted windows rolled to a stop at the curb. “Do get into the car, Dr. Murphy.”</i></p><p>  <i>Shit.</i><br/> <br/><i>“You know, my mother told me never to get into cars with strangers.” </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day One - I Never Wanted To Be In The Babysitter's Club

**Author's Note:**

> You don't _have_ to read the first two installments of GGH to enjoy this. But it might make the tiniest more sense. Not that this makes much sense at all. But it gives the story a little bit of context.
> 
> This will be 3 chapters total. Today, Tuesday and next Friday ! So there won't be a long wait.
> 
> I am so so sorry... Just... I apologize... I think I might have lost it.

When the phone rang at half six, I was already awake. I was sort of awake. I was half awake and considering actually being awake, but just hadn’t quite made it there. Why bother? I was on my week off. I was still a bit wrecked from the disco shift of six pm to two am and, honestly, I was working on returning to normal hours. And the past three days of effort, which consisted mainly of massive amounts of coffee, were slow to produce results.

“H’lo?”

“Hi, E. It’s Sarah.”

I wrinkled my nose and rubbed a hand over my face. “Hey, Sarah. What’s happening?”

“I know it’s early, and it’s last minute, and I wouldn’t call if I wasn’t desperate.”

I sighed, “Who’s sick?”

“John. Texted, actually. Out of the blue. He was due in this whole week, and I know how he can be when things are busy with Sherlock.” She made a vague sound and shifted the phone from one ear to the other. “But the last time he only texted, he was in the hospital with broken ribs, so I don’t have much hope that he’ll be in at all. And the locum agency won’t be up and running until nine, and even then…”

I gave a laugh of agreement. “Yeah, even then.” I forced myself to sit up and swept the hair out of my face. “Right, so. I can. I certainly can come in and lend a hand. But how much good am I going to do? Even if I take all the kids for the day, is that going to put a dent in it?”

“You have no idea, E. Please. All the kids are just back at school and crèche and there’s just piles of sniffles coming in.”

“Well, don’t make it sound too appealing.” It was definitely the throws of URTI season. “If you think it’ll help, then sure. What time do you want me in?”

“Just a normal nine to five. I will owe you a massive favor.”

“Mmn,” I scratched the back of my neck. “And the rest of the week?”

“I have every faith that the agency will come through for tomorrow.”

“Alright. Fine. No problem.” We said our goodbyes and I hung up the phone. Right. I scrubbed my face. No better time than the present to start a normal day. I practically rolled myself out of bed and onto the floor. After a shower and a strong cup of coffee, I was feeling much more myself, and decided a walk to work wouldn’t go awry. The weather was still pleasant. I could get by with my beat-up hoodie over my work clothes and I could get the tube home. I collected my med bag – not every surgery had kid friendly supplies – and sent a quick text to Jam about the shift. Maybe we could do our weekly drinks night somewhere closer to the surgery.

I’d decided to cut along the back Kensington Palace, because there was never any traffic there, it was quiet and peaceful, enough leafy greenery to make me forget I was in the middle of a city, and no one bothered me; rather unlike in the park. So it must have been about half eight when my mobile rang. I tugged out my earbuds and shifted my med bag before answering. It was a weirdly fluid motion for me, and I impressed myself by completing it without breaking stride.

“Hey, E. It’s Sarah again.”

“Hey,” I slowed down. “I can’t possibly be late yet, can I?”

Sarah laughed uncomfortably. “No. You’re not.”

“Sooo…” I stopped walking.

“Look, I’m so sorry. I know you’re probably on your way in. But the agency just called. They’ve a locum in the area that will be here in five minutes. Ready to work the whole week!”

“Oh! Oh.” I frowned. “I thought they didn’t open until nine.”

“Me neither,” Sarah laughed. “Apparently someone was looking out for me today.”

I glanced up and down the road, trying to decide if I should head to Notting Hill or back out to Kensington High Street. A gentleman, a rather large gentleman in a neatly tailored suit caught my eye and I started walking again, away from him, towards Notting Hill. “Right. Ok.”

“Is that alright? I didn’t ruin your plans for the day or anything?”

“No, that’s grand. I’ll be fine. I’m just getting back onto sociable hours anyway.” Was he following me? He wasn’t really catching up, but I crossed the street. Closer to the back of the palace and the embassies. Embassy row, really. The buildings here were liberally decorated with CCTV, and there was a guard in a booth at the far end of the road. I was being paranoid, but I couldn’t help it. He was probably just walking into work… In a horribly expensive suit…

“Right. I have to dash. But we should talk about getting you regular shifts here. Weekly paeds work?”

Something about that suit twigged at the back of my mind. I chuckled uncomfortably. “Maybe. Maybe later.” I picked up my pace.

“Thanks, E.”

“No problem.” Oh shit. I slowed down. There was another, bulky looking bloke in a suit ahead of me. Same suit. Why did that suit look familiar? And he was walking towards me. What the hell? “Talk later.” I heard Sarah combine another apology with her goodbye, and the line clicked out. I shifted, wondering if I could outrun the guy behind me and still dodge the guy in front of me. The dress shoes looked like they’d be uncomfortable to run in. Maybe the soles wouldn’t grip the pavement like my cons. My mobile rang. I stopped walking right in front of one of the embassies and glared at each of them in turn. “Hello?”

“Good morning, Dr. Murphy.”

Oh shit. I knew that voice. That’s why the suits looked familiar. They were cut the same, and a quick glance told me that at least one of thugs was armed. “Morning…” I frowned. “Uh… Still don’t have a name for you.”

“No.”

They’d stopped moving, each about ten feet on either flank. “Right. So. Your friends then?” I debated whether or not I’d make it to the top of the fence on the far side of the street. Maybe with a running start.

“I wouldn’t, Dr. Murphy.”

I swallowed. Right. “And what would you have me do?”

A large, black sedan with tinted windows rolled to a stop at the curb. “Do get into the car, Dr. Murphy.”

Shit.

“You know, my mother told me never to get into cars with strangers.”

One of the thugs stepped forward and opened the door. It should have been benign, like a chauffeur, but somehow, I didn’t think he was doing it out of respect.

“Surely we’ve met before.” The phone disconnected, but the voice drifted from the interior of the car. “I really am quite busy today, and am not a patient man.”

I winced and tucked my mobile back into my pocket. I really hadn’t planned on this today. I mean, I can’t think of a day I woke up and thought, you know what would be good today? Getting pressganged into creepy car meeting… Or getting kidnapped… Murdered maybe… Thrown into an unknown prison somewhere… I glanced at the man holding the door, somewhat expecting a dispassionate expression. He smiled politely in a way that actually looked like a smirk and tilted his head at the gaping entrance. Right. Ok. Fine… Ok… I gathered myself as best I could and ducked into the car. The door snapped shut behind me, and as I sat, the car rolled evenly into motion.

Well this was posh. I shifted against the leather seat as I slipped my med bag from my shoulder. I tried to ignore the way he was watching as I made myself comfortable. Ok, not comfortable. I wasn’t going to be comfortable. “Soooo,” I glanced around the interior. Why was he holding an umbrella? “I’ve gotten into the car. My mother is now ashamed. What can I do for you?”

His eyes tightened. It was very quick, extremely subtle, and I wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t been looking dead at him. He looked… annoyed? Frustrated? Maybe just a bit murderous? But his head tilted and the expression was gone. “There has been… an incident of sorts, and I find myself rather in need of someone with your particular skill set, Dr. Murphy.”

What? “My… skill set?” I asked flatly. Well that could have meant just about anything. Jesus, I hoped he didn’t need me to rob something. Certainly he didn’t want my… decorating advice.

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Yes. And absolute discretion.”

Ah. So… “And since I’m still happily not in prison…”

“And one might imagine you’d rather it remain that way.”

I blew out a breath. “One would probably be right.”

“Quite.”

An odd sound caught my attention in the conversational lull. I flinched as the music streaming from my ear buds was suddenly louder, louder and quite audible, louder and quite audible and now playing the Mission Impossible theme song.

"If you would be so kind," he tipped his head at the small iPod clipped to my belt loop.

I tried not to blush. It really had to be that song, didn't it? I switched it off and glanced out the window nervously. "So then, if not prison, where are we going?"

"Nowhere you haven't already been."

I groaned. "Is that..."

The man made a soft humming noise. "It is Baker Street, yes. You've been before. Left quite the impression."

I sighed. "Have you left it so I'll clean up my own mess?"

"Certainly not." The car rolled to a gentle stop and the door was pulled open. "Do bring your bag. I fear we might be in need of it."

I furrowed my brow as I straightened to my not-terribly-tall height. "My... My med bag? Couldn't John..."

At the mention of John's name, the man's face contorted. "Bring the bag."

I'd already swung it over my shoulder, clinging to the strap like a safety blanket. It was nice out; why did he still have that damn umbrella? I followed him up the front steps and through the black door, treading cautiously. There was an absolute ruckus coming from upstairs. I heard a loud thud and a high-pitched 'oof' sound; I stopped dead in my tracks shooting the man a concerned look. He didn't seem interested in either the sound or me, and he continued straight up the stairs.

"Myc, is that you?"

I halted again, only halfway up the stairs as a harried looking man with salt and pepper hair threw open a door and glared over the railing.

"For Christ's sake, I've to be at the Yard half an hour ago..." He trailed off as he noticed me, his eyes narrowed, and the flustered expression changed sharply into scrutiny. "Who's this?"

"Your replacement. Come along, Dr. Murphy."

"Doctor?" he crossed his arms over his chest and glared as I reached the first landing. "We don't need a doctor. The last thing we need is someone working for the government to get wind of…”

“And what, precisely, Gregory, do you have against people who work for the government?”

And it was awkward.

They were glaring at each other in a way that just… I definitely didn’t want to draw attention to myself. But working in the NHS was hardly working for the government. Slaving for the government maybe…

There was a shout and a squeal and the sound of small feet on hardwood floors, and, Gregory was it? Gregory let out a long suffering sigh, planted both his hands on his hips and shouted into the sitting room, “Oi! What did I tell you about running?!”

“Well handled, Gregory. You can leave now, if you’d like.”

Gregory rolled his eyes and frowned at me. “Do I know you?”

“Um,” I hesitated before mounting the last few stairs to the second landing. “I… I don’t think so.” I was pretty good with faces. And he looked familiar. He was way too old to be a patient of mine, a parent maybe… But… I stuck out my hand. “Dr. Murphy.”

“Detective Inspector Lestrade,” he shook my hand firmly.

Lestrade? THE Lestrade? I tried not to let all the blood drain from my face. “Then I really hope we haven’t met before,” I said as politely as possible. We hadn’t. Of that much I was certain. There was that one phone call…

I couldn’t quite parse if his expression was a wince or a grin; probably a bit of both. “They’re all yours,” he flapped a hand at the door to the sitting room.

“They?” I glanced back creepy, government, car-napper guy. Mike? Did I hear Lestrade call him Mike? The only answer I got was an arched eyebrow and the slightest tilt of his chin. Right. Ok. I gave them both a rather confused look and made my way into the sitting room. Everything looked… Normal? The way I’d seen it the last time. Well, the way it’d been before we’d decorated.

I heard the pattering feet just before the high pitched shriek and successive sustained shout and thud as a pair of kids came barreling into the sitting room, linked together in a pile of tumbling arms and legs and dark curls and baby blond hair. Ok. Kids. There were two small children in Baker Street. Ok. Sure. Why not? It’s not like this place wasn’t completely child friendly. I yelped and snatched a teapot from the low table next to John’s armchair before the tornado of bodies could knock it over, and side stepped the mess as it came to a wriggling halt in front of the coffee table.

“Give it back!”

“Never!”

“C’mon! It’s my pillow!” It was suddenly clear that the smaller of the two was going to win as he managed to wrestle the Union Jack pillow free of scrawny arms with one hand and place the offending head in a rather secure headlock. The pillow made a resounding whump as it connected with the brunet’s head. “HA!”

It was a simple sound; a light clearing of the throat and a tap of that damned umbrella on the floor from the doorway, and both little boys froze. “Really, must you? When you have company?” Two heads turned from glaring at Mike to find me, holding the teapot and staring.

It didn’t make sense. They were… little… No, not little. They were… young? Dark brown curls, scrawny limbs, knocked knees, pale skin, and piercing blue-green eyes but… small. And that meant… Blond hair, blue eyes, fucking dimples…

“W-what?” I blinked. That wasn’t. There’s no way. No. No, no, no, no, no. I blinked again. “Wait… That’s not…”

“Oh.” The blond one grinned broadly as he straightened up to reach somewhere around waist height, a small blush touching his cheeks. “Hey, E.”

I blinked at him. That… That could not. “No,” I said flatly. I set the teapot down. No, I’d seen enough. I mean… No. Just. “Fuck, no,” I held up my hands and backed toward the kitchen. “What…” I shook my head.

The brunet squirmed free and nabbed the pillow, whacking the blond in the back of the head and stomping over to Sherlock’s chair to throw himself up onto the leather with a huff.

“Sherlock!” Mike snapped.

Sherlock.

I might have been hyperventilating a bit. Just a little. I let the bag slip from my shoulder.

“You ok, E?”

I let out a breathy laugh. The expression on that kid’s face. It wasn’t quite right. Too mature for a five year-old’s face. And too familiar. And I took another step back to bump into something solid. Someone solid. I jumped a bit as a hand came down on my shoulder and a chair hit the back of my thighs. “Sit.”

I sat.

“Didn’t think to warn her then, Mycroft?” Lestrade asked wryly.

Mycroft… Mike… Mycroft. Mycroft Holmes. Oh my God. Interested party my arse. That son of a bitch. I felt my face color.

Then the brunet giggled. “Obviously.”

I stared.

Lestrade heaved a sigh somewhere behind me. “I’ll get you a cup of tea.”

“Coffee,” a very young voice offered. I was definitely hallucinating. Yeah. That was it. This was not real. I turned to look at the blond, the earnest expression on his face, even the inflection, the cadence of his words… “I’ve never seen E drink tea. Ever. She drinks more coffee than any human ever should.”

Lestrade huffed out a laugh. “Coffee it is.”

I pressed my eyes shut and rubbed at the spot between my eyebrows with the heel of my hand. After a moment, I sighed and opened my eyes. Yup. Everything was still where it had been. Everyone was still… Right. I looked at the brunet. “Sherlock?”

He rolled his eyes and made an odd sound. Probably was a rude sound, but little kids make weird sounds all the time.

I squinted at the blond. “J-John?”

His face lit up as he grinned. Jesus, he looked like a Boucher cherub.

I glared at Mycroft. “What the fuck, Mycroft?”

He gave an uncomfortable impression of a smile. It made me think that either he didn’t know how to smile to put someone at ease, or he didn’t really want to put me at ease. “Such language around children.”

I growled at him. But then John giggled and I found myself staring at him again. It was weird. It was too weird. I furrowed my brow. “Will someone, please, please tell me what the fuck is happening?”

A warm mug was pressed into my hand and I turned to find Lestrade giving me an appraising look. After a moment, the corner of his mouth twitched. “What? Not used to your friends pulling a Benjamin Button and suddenly turning into ankle-biters?”

It startled a laugh out of me. Christ, what had I gotten myself into?

“Then again,” Lestrade’s face scrunched. “Sherlock has always been a bit of a child.”

I laughed again; it was sounding barely shy of hysterical. “Just seems to me, like… I don’t know. Maybe you don’t need a doctor so much as you need a babysitter.”

Mycroft frowned epically at that statement. “Forgive me, but I must dissent. I would quite like to assure myself that, having found my brother suddenly lacking twenty-nine years and one hundred and sixty-four days of physical growth, he and his flatmate are, albeit younger looking, quite healthy.”

I blinked. Wait. “So he,” I glanced at Sherlock. “He’s how old, exactly?”

Sherlock huffed and crossed his arms. Oh man, that was an epic pout. “I am perfectly aged and have not lost any of my mental development, brother dear.”

“Five,” Mycroft answered flatly.

But… John didn’t look like he could be… At least not…

“Also five,” Mycroft confirmed.

“How?” I blurted out. “Sorry,” I held up my empty hand at John’s squeak of protest as he crossed the room, standing beside Sherlock’s chair. “But you, you’re older than he is… Normally. When you’re… You know. Not…” I held my hand down by my hip as if to gage his height.

John wrinkled his nose. “Don’t make fun, E. You couldn’t have been as tall when you were little.”

Well, he was right there. “But, wait.” I pointed at John. “He knows me… Still… Even though he’s five. That doesn’t make sense.”

Lestrade chuckled and I realized how absurd I sounded. Yes. Clearly that was the only thing that didn’t make sense. Mycroft somehow drew himself even more achingly upright. “I have people looking into it.”

Well that was creepy. “Still,” I murmured. “Any paediatrician could give them a quick once-over. I mean… They’d seem… Odd.” John snickered at that. “But not, you know, in a go to the mail kind of way.” I gazed into my coffee mug for a moment. “Seems more like a you need a nanny than medic.”

“No,” Mycroft purred. “As I said before, what I need is absolute discretion.”

I blanched.

Sherlock scoffed, “Another one of your toadies then, Mycroft?”

He let out a yelp as John punched him soundly in the shoulder and clambered up onto the chair next to him. “Be nice. E’s my friend.”

They actually fit. The pair of them fit on the chair together. It shouldn’t have been funny, but it struck me as ridiculous. I choked out a laugh, and the wide-eyed look of confusion that John wore only made me laugh harder. “I just figured out why you had to text Sarah rather than ringing in sick.”

John giggled.

“Right,” Lestrade clapped a hand on my shoulder. “You’re handling this well enough. I ought to head. I’m an hour late and I can only explain away lateness to a point.” I tried to sober up. “You gonna be alright with these two?”

I grinned at him. “Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

“I’ll drop by later, if I get a chance. In the mean time, I suppose you can call if you need anything.”

I looked down at my coffee and smiled. “I probably need a stronger drink.”

“You’re fine.” He collected his coat and headed out of the kitchen.

Mycroft gave both John and Sherlock a very stern glare. “Behave.” Then he turned on his heel and was out the door as well.

I took a big slug of coffee and twisted to set it on the kitchen table behind me. “Right,” I slapped my palms against my thighs as I blew out a breath and gave the boys a rather concerned stare. “What the bloody hell am I going to do with the two of you?” Sherlock huffed and dropped his cheek into palm, mumbling something that sounded distinctly like the word dull. John grinned. It was going to be a long day.

~o~

You are a doctor, I told myself. You are smart and you are resourceful and you are patient and you are level-headed in a crisis and you will not murder these children… Small adult… De-aged… People… Kids… I pinched the bridge of my nose under my glasses and shook myself as I repeated that again in my head for what must have been the dozenth time that day. It was only gone five. It was only a full day of work. But I was dangerously close to my breaking point. It didn’t help matters that when I opened my eyes again, Sherlock Holmes was still standing knee-deep in a duck pond, dripping green tinged water from the tips of his curls, and looking, for all the world, as if his own mother had just betrayed him.

John, god bless him, had a look on his face of abject horror with a twist of schadenfreude, and I suspected however Sherlock ended up in that pond, he’d probably brought it on himself. These two were shaving years off my life. Couldn’t take my eyes off of them for a second. John’s expression wavered into concern and a bit of guilt as Sherlock went pale. I knew that look; if he were a normal five year-old, he’d be crying. And that was a strange thought, because as the day had worn on, it had become rather apparent that as much as the pair of them had their adult memories and thoughts and somewhat retainable skills, they were… Children.

If I had to pin it down, maybe it was the emotional reaction, maybe it was the hormones or lack thereof, maybe it was the physiology of being little. But as adult as they’d been, now they reacted like kids. John couldn’t keep a single thought from expressing itself on his face and he blushed at the drop of a hat. But he knew he was cute. No wonder he was so fecking cheeky as an adult. At least he tried though; he was… Good? Earnest, maybe. And thick-skinned. Toed the line of my temper, but never actually pushed past it. Hell of a skill to have, and not one that I really wanted to understand the root of. Sherlock, on the other hand, was just too damn nosy for his own good. He was clearly the cat curiosity killed. And he had paper-thin skin when it came to emotions. Wild swings to go with it. It was probably only chance that he wasn’t crying right now, and maybe a bit because John wasn’t laughing.

Ok, enough of the park and feeding the ducks. It was time to go home. And have a nap. Or dinner. Or a drink. I sighed and pushed off of the bench, crossing the few yards to the edge of the pond. “Alright there?”

Sherlock shook his head and stuck out his lower lip. Oh Jesus. I found myself sending up manic prayers that he didn’t actually start to cry.

I stuck out my arm, “C’mon, now. Out of the pond.” I tugged him back up onto the grass and squatted down in front of him. “Did you hurt yourself? Bump your head? Skin your knee?”

He sniffed and shook his head again. He was completely soaked.

“Right.” I peeled off his small jacket and replaced it with my own hoodie. “Bath time, so.”

He sniffed again and nodded, looking at his feet. And his kicks that were making squidgy sounds as he shifted.

This had been another surprise. While John seemed contented with just holding my hand walking around town, if that really, because he’d have been just as fine without; Sherlock didn’t mind being held, carried actually, seemed to prefer it. Maybe he just wanted to be up high again. The berk. I sighed. This was going to be terrible. I held out my hands and he came willingly as I scooped him up and balanced him on my hip, tucking my hoodie closed around him. He rested his head on my shoulder and I had to tamp down the urge to wince. Yup, pond water soaking my whole side, and running down my back too where it was dripping off his hair. Thank god he didn’t weigh much.

I stuck out my free hand for John, “Home?” He nodded, scooped up Sherlock’s mucky jacket, and took my hand. It wasn’t a far walk, just a bit of a ways out of the park, then down Baker Street. Short distance or not, I was nearly as damp as Sherlock by the time John opened the door and led the way up the stairs. “Right,” I headed straight to the bathroom and set Sherlock down in the tub, clothes and all. “Ok. Can you… Shower… On your own?” Well that got me a scathing look. I had to catch my lower lip between my teeth to keep from laughing. “Yeah, ok,” I managed eventually. “I’ll put on the laundry and see if I can’t get the pond scum out of your trainers. Don’t forget to wash behind your ears.”

I was not surprised to hear what was likely a muttered curse and a wet sock hitting the door as I closed it behind me. John was standing in the kitchen, still holding Sherlock’s jacket. He offered it to me rather absently as his face pulled into an odd expression of contemplation. It looked familiar. I’d seen him do it with a patient or two. I eyed the jacket. “You have a laundry hamper around here somewhere? Maybe a washer?”

“Hm?” he blinked. “Oh. Yeah. Right, yeah. It’s in the,” he gestured to the bathroom.

I gave him a smile. “Do me a favor and grab the hamper and anything that Sherlock has managed to shed onto the floor in there, and I’ll start the washer before we sort dinner.”

He nodded. “E, you um… You know you have some…” He waved a hand vaguely at me.

I actually laughed as I plucked at my muddied shirt. “This is why we wear scrubs in ED.” He snickered as I wrinkled my nose. “Right. You get the other muddy bits together, and I’m going to have to rob something from your wardrobe to wear until I can source some of my own things that are actually clean.”

“Mine?”

I rolled my eyes. “Like I could fit into his tailored suits.”

John grinned. “Uh huh.”

Goddamn him for being such a cheeky kid. I raised a brow at him and crossed my arms. “Besides, you weren’t that much taller than me. Off you go now.” He giggled and managed to almost skip off towards the bathroom. I had to shake my head as I dashed up the stairs. Honestly didn’t trust the pair of them enough to leave them to their own devices for more than a moment. I tugged open John’s wardrobe and grabbed the first shirt my hand closed over. I started back down the stairs before I’d even finished buttoning the grey oxford. “John?”

“Yup?” he skittered out of the kitchen, lugging a full laundry basket.

I dropped my shirt onto the pile and took the hamper, propping it on my hip. “So, where’s this washer of yours?”

We started the washer and made it back upstairs in time for Sherlock to emerge from the loo, his towel wrapped around him like a toga, and announce that he was taking a nap. “Probably for the best,” I muttered as he stomped into his room. I glanced at John and nodded at the couch. “Go on, find something on the telly, and I’ll sort dinner.”

“Can I watch anything I want?”

“What do you mean, ‘anything’?”

He shrugged and his lower lip twisted in an odd expression something akin to a smile. “I dunno. Just anything?”

I narrowed my eyes. “No porn.”

He burst out laughing.

“And nothing… too violent.” I crossed my arms. He was getting at something. “And nothing illegal. Or…” I halted mid sentence as my mobile rang. “Just...” I held up a finger. “Behave, yeah?” I hoped his grin was one of amusement and not mischief as I tugged out my phone and headed into the hall to answer it. “Hello?”

“E! Drinks. Now. You done yet?”

Crap. “Hey, Jam. So, listen…”

“Oh no! No way! You are not backing out of this! I haven’t seen you in yonks and I’ve had enough. I will come sit outside the clinic and roll you into a hedge if you try to avoid me.”

“I’m not at the surgery, Jam,” I sighed and rubbed my forehead. “I’m… Well… Thing is…”

“Oh my God! E!” Jams voice dropped to a whisper. “Are you on a date? You’re on a date! Who is he? Is he hot? Sorry. Pics or it didn’t happen!”

“No, Jam.”

“No?”

“Not on a date.”

“Aw! No date?”

“No.” I wrinkled my nose and glanced through the kitchen towards Sherlock’s room.

“So, where are you?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” I still didn’t quite believe it wasn’t one big hallucination.

“Oi, Irish?” John called. “What even is this?”

“Was that a kid?” Jam asked.

I stuck my head into the sitting room. “Is that Hollyoaks?”

“This is terrible,” he complained

“It’ll rot your developing brain.”

“I mean, really, it’s medically unsound,” John said flatly.

“Find something better!”

“E, are you babysitting? You’re babysitting. Who?”

“I’m not babysitting Who!” I snapped into the phone.

“How do you even know any kids?” Jam demanded.

“I’m a paediatrician!”

“Oh.” It sounded like the breath had punched out of John.

“John?” I whirled back toward the sitting room. Oh no. What happened? He looked shockingly pale.

“Who’s John? The only John I know that you know is…”

“Jam. Stop. I’ll call you back.” I hung up the phone.

“… And the older you get, the fewer things you really love. And by the time you get to my age, maybe it’s only one or two…” I blinked at the tv. Oh shit. No, no. I scrambled to get the remote from John, sticking myself between him and the screen. “…things. With me, I think it’s one…” I heard the sound effect of landing planes.

I turned the tv off and squatted down in front of him. “John.” Oh God, don’t cry. “Hey.” I waited for him to look at me. Oh dear. He really looked young. Really, really young. “I’m revising what I said before. You aren’t allowed to watch ‘just anything.’”

He let out a slightly wet laugh and nodded.

I watched him rein in the raw emotion and nod again with a patently false smile. I patted his knee and dropped onto the couch next to him. “Forty year-old trapped in a five year-old’s body,” I muttered.

“I never really understood that phrase until right now,” he huffed out a laugh.

I gave into the impulse and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. He tucked himself against my side, pulling his knees up to curl into a small ball. “That’s because you’re the second biggest idiot I know.”

“Second?”

“Ah, wait. I know Sherlock now, so third.”

He chuckled. “Who’s the first?”

“No, Jam is.”

“What?”

I grinned at him. “Jam, was just on the phone with her. She’s the first. Probably stuck in a hedge or something now.”

“Why would she be stuck in a hedge?”

I shrugged. “Mystery of life.”

“Is that why she called then?” He seemed to relaxing incrementally, the color returning to his face. “Hi, E. I’m stuck in a hedge. Please come get me?”

“I’ve had weirder calls. But, nah. I was supposed to meet her for drinks tonight. Somehow slipped my mind.” I furrowed my brow and glanced around the room in mock confusion. “No idea how that could have happened.”

“Aw. Now I feel bad.”

I raised a single eyebrow. “You feel bad that you managed to get yourself shrunk down to five, and that caused me to have to cancel on my friend.” He nodded. I cracked a wry smile. “Next time, don’t get… magically… miraculously… mysteriously…” I waved a hand absently. “De-aged, then. Alright?”

He giggled. “Yeah. Ok.”

“You still haven’t told me how it happened. You’re not contagious are you?”

He wrinkled his nose and I had to bite back a laugh. “Something… Exploded? Maybe?”

I stared. “Maybe?” He shrugged one shoulder and I stared harder. “Oh my God!”

“What?” he startled.

“I just…” I squinted at him. “You’re very close to being promoted up that list, John. Because I’m pretty sure I just figured out why you’re the same age as wee Sherlock in the other room there.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t you ‘oh’ me, you little idiot. You threw yourself in front of him, didn’t you?”

John turned crimson.

“I knew it,” I mumbled. “Yeah, you’re back up at number two.” I ruffled his hair affectionately.

“Do I get a prize or something?”

“For being a bigger idiot?” I sized him up. “In fairness, she’s taller than you now. And no. No prize. Just a new nickname—little idiot.”

“Well that’s bunk.”

“I could just keep calling you that behind your back, like I’ve been doing for months.”

He punched my thigh and I burst out laughing. “Oi! Aren’t you supposed to be nice to kids or something? You’re supposed to be like Doc McStuffins.”

I laughed harder. “Keep calling me Irish, see what happens.” My phone started ringing again. I glanced at the screen and sighed. “If I don’t take this, she’ll keep calling.”

“Is that a jam jar?”

I nudged John away. “Nosy.” Then answered the phone. “Jam, really.”

“E, you have a story for me and I want. No need to hear it! I’ll bring you supplies! I’ll bring you food! I don’t care where you are, just. Jist... Jist gonnae tell wir fit yer daen', E. Dinnae hae tae gies a'hin', jist a teeny wee bitty o' it, sate wir curiosity, ken? C'mawn, ahm nae gan' tae tell onybody else, haun on hert!”

The fake scandalized look on John’s face was enough to set me laughing again. He grinned, “I like her. Have her bring me food.”

I pulled a face. “I don’t think that’s the best idea.”

“I heard that! And it’s a great idea! E, come on! I’ll bring you scotch!”

I sighed into the phone. “I’m minding kids here. I don’t think scotch is much of a selling point.”

“It’s a _major_ selling point!”

“Jam, no.”

“Jam, yes!”

“She’s got a point.” I shushed John with a wave of my hand and he smiled in response. “I’ll take a glass.”

“John Watson, you are not drinking! You’re five,” I hissed.

“What?” Jam whispered.

“Oh God,” I muttered.

“E.”

“Jam, no. Just shut up ok. I can explain.”

“E. E!” Jam was getting progressively louder. “PICS OR IT DIDN’T HAPPEN!”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.”

“Language,” John chided.

“I hate you both right now,” I muttered into the open room. “Listen. Idiot two, what do you want for dinner?”

“Fish and chips!”

I rolled my eyes. “And will he,” I bobbed my head at Sherlock’s room. “Eat that too?”

“’Course,” John said in a way that I was not inclined to believe him.

“Fine. Alright. Fine. Idiot one,” I said into the phone. “Bring four servings of fish and chips from that one take-away by the pub, yeah? And… And I need you to swing by my flat and fetch an overnight bag. My clothes are covered in mud and I’ve nothing left to wear. And… I guess… You can… I don’t know, come over and help me with… this… situation.”

“I’m idiot one?” Jam asked.

“Jesus, Jam. Yes.”

She laughed. “Four fish and chips. One slumber party bag. And one large bottle of scotch! Where am I going with this?”

“No scotch.”

“Where?! E! Come on!”

I sighed and winced. “Baker Street.”

“Baker Street…” She was quite for a long time.

“Jam?”

“Two bottles of scotch then!

“Jam! NO!” But I was shouting down a disconnected line. I glared at the phone for much longer than necessary.

“I like the sound of her. She’s got the right idea.”

I glared at John. “We are working off of very different definitions of ‘right’ then, aren’t we.”

John giggled, then bit his lower lip, looking up at me from beneath shaggy fringe and baby blond lashes.

“You’re the worst,” I muttered.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I don’t.”

“So, your friend. Have I met her before? Her voice sounds familiar.”

“No,” I lied quickly. Maybe that was too quick. “At least, not through me. She’s never come out to any of the work stuff with me.”

“Huh.” John gave me a blank smile. “Better go make sure Sherlock’s up before your friend gets here.”

I wrinkled my nose as he stood, taking in the day’s worth of grass stains and dirt on him. “Maybe you ought to clean up yourself.”

He held out his arms and looked down. “What?”

“You’ve bits of the park stuck all over you.” I sighed. “I still don’t quite understand how kids get so damn filthy in the blink of an eye. It’s like you’re dirt magnets or something.”

John grinned. “Dirt magnet, little idiot, you flatterer.”

I snorted and pushed off the couch. “Off you go, take a shower or a bath or something. I’ll go roust his majesty.”

“You know, we don’t have a king,” he offered.

“Just a Queen.”

I jumped at the intruder’s voice and thrust John behind me on instinct. I wasn’t used to people sneaking up on me, and I certainly wasn’t used to them being particularly casual about it.

For a moment, the only sound in the flat was the rapid staccato of her fingers flying over the keys of her mobile. Her eyes flicked up, though the clicking continued without hesitation. It was a quick assessment, pointed and professional, and it made me squirm. Then I realized what a mess I must look like, still in my cons, pond muck on my jeans, John’s shirt…

“Hello,” John flashed her a broad smile, and I saw the corner of her mouth twitch as she took note.

“Put them on the table.” Her head tilted ever-so-slightly toward the kitchen, the flash of a smirk disappearing from her face as one of the suits, one I was nearly positive had been at the car earlier in the day, swept into the kitchen with two armfuls of bags. Ah. Works for Mycroft Holmes, then. The bags were dropped on the table, and he left quickly. “Alright?”

I glanced down at John and he smiled up at me. Oh. She was asking me? “Um… Yes?”

She flashed an exceedingly polite smile without looking up from her phone. “If there is anything else you need, just let us know. We will endeavor to provide it.” As she left, her heels made sharp clicking sounds on the hardwood, and I wondered if she did that on purpose.

“Was that the royal we?” I asked absently, hoping my heart rate would drop back down to normal. I wandered into the kitchen, eyeing the bags.

John giggled.

“Does she always talk like that?” Huh, two of the bags were filled with clothes of two very distinct styles.

“Actually,” John scratched the back of his neck. “She doesn’t often say much at all.”

I raised a brow in question. “She could kill me with one hand tied behind her back, couldn’t she.”

He shrugged. “What’s in the bag?”

“Uh, clothes.” I rifled through one of them. “And I’m guessing this is for you,” I pulled out small pair of pajama pants. “And this other bag looks like it’s for his Majesty if he could deign to put on some clothing.”

John tugged down his bag and dug through it. “I could wear these. What’s in the last bag?”

I frowned. “Food enough to make me feel like a rubbish doctor for what I’m actually going to feed you for dinner.”

John giggled. “You’re better off. More likely to get us to eat the fish and chips.”

I sighed. “Right. Go give himself some clothes, and I’ll tidy everything else up for dinner.”

I had felt ok about it. I was… ok… I was coping. Up until I realized that I wasn’t. I started pacing and second-guessed the decision to let Jam bring the food. Mycroft was going to kill me. No, wait, that wasn’t right. Mycroft wouldn’t kill me… He’d have me killed. Quietly. Disappeared one day, and no one would know what had become of me. I chewed on my thumb absently as I eyed the empty sitting room. What if he had cameras in the room? What if he thought Jam was a threat?

I started to laugh—Jam, a threat? Please. I mean, Mycroft Holmes had the same dirt on Jam as he did on me, if not more so. Hell, she’d gotten busted. Twice! John and Sherlock had to pull her out of a window last time. And she’d tried to hide under John’s bed…

Shit.

Forget Mycroft. Sherlock was going to have me killed. He would recognize Jam. Oh God. Jam had yelled at him! Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit.

“I can hear you thinking. It’s loud and annoying. Stop.”

I huffed out a laugh. “Feeling better after your nap, then?”

Sherlock settled in his chair and glared at me. “Hungry.”

I heard the pipes cut out as John finished his shower. There had been a scuffle and small, literally small, shouting match over the muck left in the loo after Sherlock had cleaned off the pond filth. I found myself contemplating giving them a time out. And I’d turned into my mother. Once they’d been settled, Sherlock sorted his new clothing, something about socks, something about the tags, and he shut the door in my face. Apparently being tetchy was his natural reaction to being hungry. Then again, the glare on his little face was far less threatening than when he was an adult.

“Right, well. Food should be here in a mo.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re nervous. Why are you nervous?”

“Because your brother terrifies me and so do his people.” There was a loud knock from downstairs. Saved by the bell, sort of. “Ah, food.” I fled.

When I opened the front door, Jam burst inside and started dropping bags of things on me. “E! Oh man! Here! I got you some things, and like a toothbrush and some shoes and a hoodie and like your laptop and charger for your phone. And what the HELL are you wearing? OH MY GOD! E!”

“Stop!” I hissed, grabbing her before she could make it to the stairs. “Jam. Please.”

“E. E… This is huge! I brought whiskey. And my phone. Pics or it didn’t happen!”

“Jam, no!”

“Jam, yes!”

“Jam!” I gave her a small shake. “Look at me!” She wrinkled her nose but stopped moving for a moment. “This is… You cannot tell anyone. I don’t think I could possibly explain this, but you… You just can’t. You can’t tell anyone. You weren’t here. You didn’t see anything. Do you understand?”

Jam frowned. “Aye. Ok. You are just a wee bit stressed, aren’t you?”

I nodded.

“Right, so. Whiskey is a must.”

“No,” I said firmly, releasing her shoulders in favor of collecting my overnight bag from the floor. “You’ll… You’ll understand when we get upstairs.” I’d only made it up the first two stairs before I stopped and turned. “Also, Jam. You can’t even think about our… Our previous… Adventures. Right?”

“Alright. Fine.” She continued to mutter the remaining distance to the sitting room.

“That had better be dinner. Otherwise, I may be forced to entertain myself in ways John has explicitly forbidden. And in spite of my current height, I assure you that I both know where the gun is hidden and the combination to the lock. And I rather lack fundamental concern about the well-being of my surroundings.”

“Oh. My. God.” She froze in the doorway.

“Jam, listen.”

“No, no, no, no, no!” She shoved the bag of fish and chips into my hands and darted across the room, scooping Sherlock out of his chair and into a giant hug. He let out an indignant squeak. “LOOK AT YE! YOU CUTE WEE THING!”

“Jam!”

“The hell?” John asked, stopping just behind my hip and regarding the scene with wide eyes. “That’s Jam?”

“You are so precious!” Jam squealed, turning to catch sight of John. “Oh my God! The pair of ye!”

“E,” John mumbled, “Your friend is barmy.”

“Tell me about it,” I set a hand protectively on his shoulder. “But she’s mostly harmless.”

“Hey!” Sherlock tugged sharply on a lock of Jam’s hair. “I am only tolerating you and your second intrusion into my flat because I have been assured you brought food.”

“Second?” I raised a brow as John flushed a deep shade of red.

“Is there food?” John asked innocently.


	2. Day Two - Well That Was Rather Unexpected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Look... There is literally no excuse for this. There was no excuse for the first two. It is just 100% ridiculousness. For a THIRD ROUND of this ridiculousness. But like... There's glitter and cuteness and Kevin the intern and BBCThree and sentient magenta ooze. Why WOULDN'T you read this?! I have no idea how this has gotten so out of control. But clearly, we've been missing a few people... Welcome back the whole gang! Because I don't know what is going on anymore.  
> 
> 
> _“Kevin, is it from your Uncle Jim?” Please say no. Please, please say no._
> 
> _“Nope! Good guess though. He took the first one and I had to get another for Mr. Mycroft. Well, I had to get another one, then another another one for Mr. Mycroft.”_
> 
> _I flinched. “Can you please stop saying his name? I’m pretty sure…” I cut myself off at the sound of someone clearing their throat directly behind my left shoulder. I tried not to jump as my spine stiffened reflexively. Now I was certain. Repeating his name was like an unholy summons. And he’d managed to skip the two squeaky steps, and crept in through the kitchen. Bastard. “… He’s here,” I finished flatly._
> 
> _Jam was staring, “That’s Mycroft?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You don't have to read the first two installments of GGH to enjoy this. But it might make the tiniest more sense. Not that this makes much sense at all. But it gives the story a little bit of context. Though, really... there is no context... this is pure crack.
> 
> This will be 3 chapters total. Apologies for the break between 1 and 2 (real life... the pits). Chapter 3 will totally be out before Christmas!!
> 
> I am so so sorry... Just... I apologize... I think I might have lost it.

I woke with a mild headache and the nagging sensation that something was desperately wrong. It took an extra few moments for me to recognize my surroundings and I groaned. It wasn’t a hangover, just an overbearing sense of dread and too little sleep. I scrubbed at my face and fumbled for my phone, raising a brow at the hour and trying to decide if I was more or less concerned that it sounded like the kids were still asleep at six in the morning.

In fairness, they’d managed to stay awake until nearly midnight, giggling in the fort of linens and pillows they’d built on Sherlock’s bed. And that was only after the slight war of getting them into the bed in the first place, which I didn’t win until nearly ten. I’d given in and cracked the bottle of scotch around eleven, and was channeling my inner Samuel L. Jackson, telling them to go the fuck to sleep by quarter to midnight. Jam was the opposite of helpful, encouraging their antics and their begging for snacks and glasses of water and mugs of cocoa. I only gave in to the cocoa for Jam to take the opportunity to spike it with a little bit of scotch. I didn’t even notice until they were nearly done and everyone was giggling and I took the mugs back for cleaning.

Then again, it worked. And they went to sleep. And I was beat. But I couldn’t say I trusted them to stay in bed, so I’d sent Jam upstairs to John’s room as I set up camp on the sofa. And now, I was back to my early morning waking and surprised to find I was the only one up in the flat. Well, I’d never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth. I rolled myself off of the couch and stretched. If I hurried, I could possibly shower, and have a coffee, and cycle the laundry, and start breakfast before anyone else was up. If I was lucky. And only if I hurried.

I rummaged through the bag Jam had thrown together, and tugged out clean clothes and my dop kit. At least she knew me. Luck was holding enough for me to find a clean towel in the loo and snatch a quick shower, brush my teeth, and get dressed without anyone interrupting, or walking in by accident, or falling down the stairs, or setting the flat on fire. As soon as I was dressed, I headed for the kitchen and made coffee. Strong, strong coffee.

I collected as much of the dirty laundry I could find and cycled the wash. God bless Mrs. Hudson for her tumble dryer. Apparently her time in the States was enough to spoil her on that front, and I would be forever grateful. I made it back upstairs as the bedroom door cracked open and John padded out. “Morning,” I refilled my coffee.

John scratched the back of his head and yawned. “Do I smell coffee?”

“It’ll stunt your growth,” I grinned.

He pouted. “I’ve had coffee nearly every morning for the past twenty-five years of my life.”

I shook my head, but refilled the kettle. “I’ll make you tea. Do you want some toast for breakfast?” He nodded and climbed up into one of the kitchen chairs. I tried to keep the smirk off of my face at the effort it took to get situated on the high stool. “Sherlock awake yet?”

He shook his head and yawned again. “M’no. He sleeps like a log when he sleeps.”

I cocked a brow as I twisted over my shoulder to look at him. “Does he?”

John flushed bright red and giggled. “Yup.”

I cracked another smile and reached for the toast as it popped up. “Butter? Jam?”

“Cooofffffeeee.” Jam stumbled into the kitchen. “Oh my God, E, please tell me there’s coffee. I’m dying.”

I held out a mug of mostly milk with a splash of coffee. “Don’t die. We’ve a long day ahead.” She grumbled at me, but took the mug.

“How’s it she gets coffee, and I don’t?” John complained. “And both. Please.”

“Have you seen how big you are?” I asked.

“I’m nearly as tall as she is,” he waved a hand at Jam.

Jam snickered. “Aye bin wee, laddie”

“Stop,” I set the plate of toast in front of John. “You, eat your breakfast now.” I turned to Jam, “And you, stop harassing the children and drink your coffee. If you’re good, I’ll let you use the shower _AND_ find you a clean towel.”

“Aw, mom, you spoil us,” Jam wheedled. John giggled in response.

“Grounded,” I said flatly. “Aren’t you supposed to be here helping?”

“And I’m going to grab a shower.” Jam headed toward the bathroom, turned around and headed for the stairs, turned again for the bathroom and froze at the table.

“Alright, there, ping-pong ball?”

“Where’d I put my bag?”

I laughed. “Upstairs. I think.”

“Did ya put it under the bed, maybe?” John offered.

Jam’s face pinched, then she laughed. “Should have written it down on a post-it or something.”

She flounced up the stairs as John turned red again. I raised a brow, “Something I should know about?”

An entire half slice of toast disappeared into John’s mouth and he muttered something unintelligible around the crumbs.

“Right.” I went back to my coffee. John mumbled again and I looked up in time for him to hastily swallow the rest of his food. “Please don’t choke on your breakfast. I’m a good doctor and all, but it’s entirely too early for me to be working.”

He grinned. “I said, any word from Mycroft yet?”

I blanched. “No. Why? Why would he call me?”

“Dunno,” John shrugged. “I suppose I assumed he’d call you rather than us. I don’t think he quite knows how to handle children.” I smiled. That was actually an entertaining image. “Besides, Mycroft Holmes doesn’t really trust anybody. And he left you in charge. So you’ve either done something to impress him and he’s in your debt, or you did something dumb and you’re in his.”

I blinked. Probably a bit of both, really. Yeah, I’m not in jail. But deep down, I had to think that Mycroft Holmes was the tiniest bit entertained by what we’d managed… Both times… “Did you just say that I’m in charge?”

John blew a loud raspberry at me.

Sherlock slept for another hour and a half. And it took another hour before he was tea’d and fed and we’d come up with some semblance of a plan for the day. Though, I knew I would get odd looks for taking two little kids to the Hunterian museum. And Jam, though also fed, and clothed, and down her only cup of coffee for the day, seemed the most reluctant. But Sherlock pouted and gave her big, puppy-dog eyes and she caved so quickly, I had whiplash.

So I sent John and Sherlock to get dressed, and stashed my overnight bag and med kit up in John’s room. But honestly… I couldn’t turn my back for a second. And by the time I was coming back down the stairs, there was an extra voice in the sitting room. An excited voice. A familiar voice. And not one I was particularly pleased to hear.

“Oh, Jam lady, you’re here too! That’s just brilliant!”

I sighed and rubbed my temples. Perfect. Kevin. That was… That was just… just bleeding brilliant.

“Oooh, Kevin, what’s in the box?”

“Oh. Well. It… It’s a present!”

“Love presents,” I heard Jam reply. “Let’s have it.”

“Ah. See. I can’t, right? Because it’s not for you.”

“Ah, g’wan. Give it here.”

“Jam, leave Kevin alone. Did you just up and let him in?” Jam gave a nod. Not enough coffee yet to deal with Kevin. Maybe not enough coffee in the world. “Kevin,” I gave a controlled nod and braced myself on the back of John’s chair.

“Oh! E! Hi! Wow. Good to see you!”

I held up both hands on reflex. “Not a hugger, Kevin.”

“Right, sorry, I forgot.”

_Meow_

I glanced at the floor. Jesus, the cat was here too. “You two go everywhere together then?”

“Oh yes. Three is my sidekick now.”

“Three?” I frowned at the cat. “I thought his name was Mr. Whiskers.”

“Oh no, no, no. Too mundane for him. We wanted something flashy! Something appropriate for the sidekick-ed-ness. The Robin to my batman, the Scully to my Mulder, the… the… The Higgins to my Magnum!”

“Right. And you went with Three? Where are you even from?”

“Desert Bluffs,” Kevin smiled.

“What?”

“No, wait. That’s not right.” He looked confused for a moment. “Uuuh, Reading. I’m from Reading.”

I raised a brow and nodded to the couch. “Please sit before you fall over and hurt yourself.” He grinned and dropped into the corner seat at the far end from Jam. I wrinkled my nose at Three until he perched on the arm of the sofa, halfway across the room from me. My eyes were itching already. “Now, Kevin, what can we do for you today?”

“Oh, well! So. I have this,” he held up the package in his hands.

“And what a lovely box. Who’s it for?” It was a little like dealing with a toddler or a puppy or a very full-grown idiot. Harmless idiot, but idiot.

“Ah, right, that. I can only give it to the person it’s for. The person whose present it is. The present’s person. Presentee. Person. Thing.”

I closed my eyes. God, give me patience. “And who exactly is the presentee?”

“Mr. Holmes!”

“Sherlock?”

“Nooo, silly. This is for Mr. Mycroft Holmes.”

I frowned. “It’s for Mycroft… Who’s it from, Kevin?"

Kevin sucked in a breath, but instead of speaking, his face went a funny shade of red. I drew my brows together in the extended silence. Finally, he puffed out a desperate, “Can’t say!”

That was uncomfortable. “Kevin, is it from your Uncle Jim?” Please say no. Please, please say no.

“Nope! Good guess though. He took the first one and I had to get another for Mr. Mycroft. Well, I had to get another one, then another another one for Mr. Mycroft.”

I flinched. “Can you please stop saying his name? I’m pretty sure…” I cut myself off at the sound of someone clearing their throat directly behind my left shoulder. I tried not to jump as my spine stiffened reflexively. Now I was certain. Repeating his name was like an unholy summons. And he’d managed to skip the two squeaky steps, and crept in through the kitchen. Bastard. “… He’s here,” I finished flatly.

Jam was staring, “That’s Mycroft?”

I nodded. Mycroft raised a brow and made an indecipherable sound, tapping his umbrella against the hardwood floor. “Madam,” he said reluctantly to Jam. “Dr. Murphy, I am rather concerned at the sheer volume of persons currently occupying this flat. I am curious if your definition of confidential quite differs from my own.”

I sighed, shaking my head. “As if you weren’t aware they’re here.”

He frowned sharply and I recoiled from the expression. “And… They are?”

“Getting dressed,” I bobbed my head at Sherlock’s room. “Thanks for the clothes, by the way. There was no way I would keep up with the laundry.”

“And these people?”

“Sorry. You know Jam, from… the thing…” Well, that sounded idiotic. “And this… excitable young man is Kevin.” Kevin almost bounced out of his seat at the introduction and made a pleasant ‘D’aww’ noise. “Kevin, this is Mycroft Holmes. So if you’d like to make your delivery and sod off, that’d be appreciated.”

“Ah! Brilliant!” he leapt up from the couch. “It’s an honor, Sir, really terribly amazing really.”

Mycroft pulled back, a look of affront on his face. It was an image that would make me laugh for many, many days to come. He ignored the extended hand and rather reluctantly took the package, turning it over in his hands. “And what, specifically, is in this?”

“What? You can’t tell by just looking at it? By the way Kevin pronounces his letter ‘R’s? His socks or something?” Mycroft rebuked Jam with a dark scowl, and she clamped her mouth shut.

Kevin either didn’t notice or didn’t care or didn’t know to care. “Aren’t you going to open it?” Mycroft frowned at him. “I just ask, because, you know, I can never wait to open my presents and the suspense is killing me.”

Mycroft glared at him. “Do you know what this is?”

Kevin blinked. “I give up! What is it?!”

I bit my lip to keep from laughing. Jam chuckled. “Ah g’wan. He wouldn’t let me have a nosy.”

Mycroft looked at me and I just shrugged. “Tea?” Yeah, I could make tea and let the three of them sort it out.

Jam pried the knife from the mantle and handed it to Mycroft. He took it and studied the box, then Kevin. Then gave an almost imperceptible shrug and slid the blade under the twine, snapping it free with ease.

It was a soft noise. Quiet. Muffled and high pitched and if I didn’t know better, I’d call it a whimper. I was a bit surprised I heard it over the bickering now going on, a running critique of Mycroft’s ability to open a package, Jam and Kevin discussing Christmas morning traditions. I turned to find Sherlock standing in the kitchen entry, swaying slightly, the color rapidly draining from his face, and an expression of horror in his eyes. It was the look of a child on the brink of vomiting, or crying, or both. Both. His eyes shimmered and I thought I heard another whimper. I dropped onto one knee and set my hands on his bony shoulders. “Sherlock?”

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. I was suddenly glad he didn’t vomit on me. I pressed the back of my hand against his forehead. No fever. It was as though he was looking through me. Right. Ok. I scooped him up and propped him on my left hip. When he didn’t make a sound, I really started to worry. “Hey, Sherlock, what’s wrong?”

His legs wrapped around my waist and he buried his face against my shoulder. I craned my neck trying to get a look at his face, but all I could see was a mess of dark curls. What the hell?

“Bloody buggering fuck.”

My head snapped to my right. It should have been somewhat amusing, maybe ironic: the five year-old version of John swearing like a seasoned sailor. But his eyes were luminous and the size of saucers. I was fairly sure I’d seen that expression before, the adult version of dread and anticipation, his hands curled into fists at his side. I twisted to look further over my shoulder and… Holy Mother! The package was glowing. Glowing and glittery and pink. And growing brighter by the second.

Shit.

It was a single movement, really. My right arm swung out and I crouched down as I turned back to the kitchen, catching John around the waist and tucking him in against my side as I heaved myself and both kids through the kitchen doorway and out into the hall. I curled myself against the wall, trying to shield the two small bodies from… from… whatever was happening.

The glowing flared into a brilliant magenta that was nearly blinding, and there was an unusual, unnatural, oddly comical popping sound – a cork popping from a champagne bottle maybe. Then silence. I risked looking around the corner into the kitchen.

Glittery fuchsia ooze.

It moved like the pseudopods of an amoeba, spreading across the floor, nearly reaching the table before retreating like a recessed wave, back into the sitting room. The light returned to normal. Silence.

What. The. Fuck.

“It’s alright,” I hummed, releasing John first, so I could set Sherlock on the stairs. It was like unwrapping a small octopus, and it took a moment to free myself. “It’s ok, Sherlock,” I murmured, more for John’s sake.

John gave me a serious look. Exceptionally serious for a five year-old. “E?”

“Stay with Sherlock, yeah?” He nodded, and I ruffled his hair. “Good man.”

I crept into the kitchen. I’m not sure if a person can sneak up on a glowing, sparkly pink amoeba, but I was sure as hell going to try. Kitchen was… normal. Nothing out of place or disturbed or destroyed. Ok. Right. I inched over toward the sitting room. Then stopped dead. What the… bloody… holy… mother of...

“E?”

Shit.

Shit damn hell bugger fuck.

Then I burst out laughing, because there was nothing else I could possibly do.

“If you’re quite finished, I deeply suspect the situation at hand is going to require slightly more composure and patience than you currently possess, Dr. Murphy.” It should have been frightening; the scowl, the arched brow, the patrician sniff of indignity… Except… Freckles. All across his nose. And the baby fat in his cheeks. And he was swimming in that three-piece suit, and his hair was so much lighter, a ruddy brown. And his voice was higher pitched and… Jesus he looked about eight or nine. I laughed again. “Nine,” he said flatly, answering my unasked question.

“E?”

Mop of fluffy curls… “Jam?” Five, definitely five. “Holy shit, Jam.”

She stuck out her lower lip in an epic pout and I was about to pick her up and hug her when a high-pitched peal of laughter broke out by the couch. “This is brilliant!”

Oh sweet Jesus. Kevin.

“Wheee!” Kevin leapt from the couch, leaving behind the majority of his clothes, bar a single sock, and took off in a squealing run around the sitting room. “WHEEE!”

“Oh my God.”

I turned to find Sherlock and John staring at the scene, jaws gaping. Sherlock looked appalled until he noticed Mycroft and he had to clap a hand over his mouth. John looked more amused, but sensible, so I addressed him first. “John, could you get a bath towel for me, please.” He nodded and scampered off. “Jam, can you just… hang tight there for a mo?”

A tinkle of high-pitched giggles erupted from Sherlock. “Fat!” he pointed at Mycroft.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a child.”

“But I am a child!” Jam cried.

Oh dear.

“Whee!!”

“Kevin!” I barked.

“Whee!”

“Here, E.”

“Ah, thanks, John.” I accepted the large towel and ruffled his hair affectionately. “Med bag? I stashed it up in your room.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Ma’am… I almost corrected him, but he was such an earnest little kid. “Now.” I unrolled the towel and held it like a net, waiting for Kevin to take another lap.

“Wheeeee!”

I caught him in the towel and wrapped him up as snuggly as I could. “Gotchya!”

Kevin giggled, “Brilliant! E! You’re so tall!”

“Yeah, I know,” I mumbled.

_Mew_

I sighed… and a kitten. Wonderful.

“I don’t want to be small!” Jam wailed.

Mycroft frowned at her as I groaned. “I know, I know.” I tugged my phone out and considered it for a moment. Who was I supposed to call? Was there some sort of emergency clean up team for things like this? Mycroft must have people… People he certainly couldn’t call right now. I chewed on my lower lip.

“Here, E,” John set my med bag at my feet. “Anything else I can do?”

God he was well behaved. I sighed heavily and shifted my hold on Kevin. “Tea?” He grinned. “Go make enough tea for everyone, yeah?”

“My specialty,” he gave a clap of his hands and headed for the kitchen. A moment later, I could hear him dragging a chair across to the counter. Bless, he couldn’t reach the kettle otherwise.

“Right,” I mumbled. Lestrade. He was sensible. He’d know. He’d know who to call or how to call or what the bloody hell to do. “What’s Detective Inspector Lestrade’s number?”

Mycroft blanched. “No.”

I frowned. “Who the hell else am I supposed to call?! He already knows anyway.”

Sherlock snickered and started to dictate a number.

“Do Not!” Mycroft was trying to be stern. Trying. But he was only nine.

Sherlock’s expression was rather wicked as he finished the number and looked at me expectantly. Why did I feel like this was a mistake? I hit send anyway and started to pace, bouncing Kevin on my hip as he toyed with my necklace.

“Lestrade.”

“Uh… hi… Detective Inspector. This is Dr. Murphy. From… From yesterday morning?”

“Ah. Right. Yes.” There was a shuffle and the distinct sound of a door closing. “What can I do for you?”

I hesitated. “Look. I… I need a hand. We’re in a bit of trouble here. Things just got a bit… um… worse?”

“Worse? How could they possibly get worse?”

I made an uncomfortable sound. “Maybe… It might be better if you came here.”

He sighed. “I would if I could. We just got hit with a double homicide and without Sherlock I won’t…”

“Case?” Sherlock bounced up to his knees on his chair. I shook my head at him with a frown.

“I can’t get out of here until this evening at the earliest. Have you… You could ring Mycroft.”

My eyes flicked over to the couch. No calling the nine year-old to save the day. “Yeah… That’s… That’s the thing…”

There was a long pause. Then, “Oh God.”

“Yeah.”

“And he’s…”

“Yeah, nine.”

Mycroft flushed and toyed with the buttons of his too big waistcoat.

“Shit,” Lestrade hummed.

“Yeah.”

“So…”

“So,” I huffed.

“Does he have freckles?”

“What?” I laughed in spite of myself.

“You know. Freckles. On his face.”

“Uh, yeah. Actually.”

Lestrade burst out in a chuckle. “Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s not funny. But…”

“Yeah,” I agreed.

“Look. Try to hold down the fort and I’ll get there as soon as humanly possible. I know Mycroft has people working on this. Hold tight, yeah?”

I nodded. “Hold tight. Yup.”

“If you need anything delivered, I’m sure it can be sorted.”

“Yeah. Ok. Yeah. We had a small delivery last night too. Thanks.”

“Hey, Dr. Murphy. You’re doing fine.”

I snorted. “Right.”

“Welcome to the weirdest team you’ll ever be on.”

I laughed. He had no idea. “Thanks.” I disconnected the line and turned back into the room. John was delivering cups of tea with the concentration and caution of someone handling nitroglycerine. Mycroft was frowning at anything that moved. Sherlock was in his chair, sitting cross-legged and staring at his brother. Jam still looked on the verge of tears. I looked at Kevin, happily sucking his thumb and humming to himself. “What am I going to do with all of you?”

He popped his thumb out of his mouth. “I give up. What?!”

I shouldn’t have encouraged it, but I giggled. “I’ve no idea. But I think I’m going to need some help.”

It was nearly an hour later when help arrived, but it came in spades. And just in time. I was a bit at the end of my rope with them already. Sherlock persisted in harassing Mycroft, offering biscuits, calling him all varied derivations of fat he could think of, particularly as I was giving him a quick check over. Otherwise, Mycroft was trying to look as dignified as possible in the oversized suit. Jam had bundled herself into her jumper and burrowed into the corner of the sofa and hardly poked her head out, even when Kevin escaped from his towel prison and had to be chased down again. God bless John for his help and good behavior and earnest pride in every little bit of praise I managed to give him between muttered swears and fumbling grabs at Kevin. Three was… Well… A kitten, and had curled up in the folds of Jam’s now oversized jumper, making little mewing sounds and purring when Jam half smothered him with a giant sleeve. So when I’d managed to pronounce them all healthy, if not significantly younger than expected and there was a loud knock on the downstairs door, I was breathing a sigh of relief.

The help itself had been a negotiation with Mycroft, but in the end, he’d relented. It was his people or mine. And as there was only one person he actually trusted to see him in the state he was in, and she had come by to collect the now empty package and ship it off for review and would be stuck with that project for the foreseeable future, it had to be my people. My people that would be discreet… Sort of… For the same reason I would be. I pulled the door open for Nicole and T and Fleur, and the three of them piled into the front hall. “You have _No_ idea how happy I am to see you guys.”

“Well, you sounded pretty desperate on the phone,” Nicole answered.

“Brought all the stuff you asked for too,” T held up the bags from Primark as Nicole and Fleur held up the groceries and supplies.

“What do we need all this for?” Fleur asked curiously.

I gave them the most serious expression I could muster. But at this point, I probably didn’t look serious, I probably looked a bit crazy. I felt a bit crazy. “Look. This is… Confidential. Completely, one hundred percent, full on never-speak-of-this-or-die in an unknown prison kind of secret, yeah?”

They nodded.

“I’m not sure you’ll believe me until you see it, but… There’s been an… accident. And… Well… I’m minding five kids that are not really kids. Well, five kids and a kitten.” They were silent and I wrinkled my nose. “Um. Ok. Long story short. Jam, Kevin, Sherlock, John, and Mycroft Holmes have been turned into children and I’m minding them, but there are just too many and I’ll either accidentally let one of the die from negligence or I’ll kill one out of frustration. So we’re all on babysitting duty for the afternoon.”

There was a long silence. They probably thought I was insane. I thought I was insane. Finally, T broke the silence. “So. Jam is a kid now?” I nodded. T smiled. “How cute is she?”

“As a button,” I sighed.

Fleur giggled. “Arts and crafts hour?”

I nodded.

Nicole shifted. “And… Kevin?”

“Running around naked, because he’s too small for his clothes.”

She tried to smother a laugh behind her hand.

“So, secret but fun?” T asked.

“I guess. Yeah. That sounds about right. You all in?” They nodded. “Thank God. C’mon.” They followed me up the stairs and I led them into the sitting room, clearing my throat as we entered. “Um. So… kids?” I winced as soon as it came out, but it got everyone’s attention. “Gang, this is Nicole, T, and Fleur. Ladies… This is the gang.” I saw the blood drain from Mycroft’s face, but he couldn’t seem to decide on the appropriate words.

“Oh my God,” T murmured, setting down her bags. “Jam.” She scooped Jam up from the corner of the sofa, shaking Three loose to drop onto the cushions with an indignant meow. She bounced Jam high into the air, “You are the most adorable wee scone!” Jam giggled and cracked the first smile I’d seen since… Well since she was de-aged, littled, shrunk.

“Wheeee!” I turned as Kevin came barreling through the kitchen, thankfully in an oversized tee-shirt and still the one sock. “Nicooooooole!” He latched onto Nicole’s leg. “Brilliant!”

Nicole giggled and scooped him up as a very red faced John trudged through the kitchen, looking rather disheveled. He must have wrestled Kevin into the shirt. “Good lad,” I murmured, ruffling his hair further as he crossed to Sherlock’s chair and flopped into it next to Sherlock. I didn’t miss the smile and blush at the praise. He was nearly as attention starved as Sherlock.

Speak of the devil, Sherlock took that moment to announce that he was hungry, so Mycroft must be starving, then he laughed into his hand. Mycroft sighed angrily and crossed his arms.

Right. Ok. “T, can you sort out the clothes for Jam and Mycroft? Nicole, maybe you can convince Kevin to put on some pants? Fleur, can you help me with the food?”

“Do you want me to help?”

I smiled. “No, John. Thank you. Maybe find something on the telly that everyone can watch? Something safe, yeah. I think we’ll all eat in here.”

Fleur followed me into the kitchen, waiting until we were constructing sandwiches from the supplies they’d brought to ask, “Mycroft… Is he that fellow that banjaxed our bus?”

I nodded. “The same.”

Fleur smiled. “Not so scary when he’s little.”

I huffed out a laugh. “No, he’s not. But he’ll be big again soon enough. So let’s just take it handy.”

“Good idea.” Fleur carefully removed the crusts from the sandwiches she’d completed. “Do you think he likes to draw?”

“You know,” I smiled. “I’ve no idea.”

We poured a bowl of crisps and sliced up some apples as well. Then carried the whole lot into the sitting room. “Lunch!” Fleur called.

It was carnage. Brief and not too messy, but carnage. I returned to the kitchen and made myself a small plate, cleaning as I went, watching the kids out of the corner of my eye. When T went after them with hand wipes, I popped my head into the room. “Mycroft, will you clear the dishes, please?”

He rolled his eyes, but complied. You’d have thought I’d asked him to scrub the floors with a toothbrush for all the heel dragging. Sherlock snickered, “Go be mother!”

I frowned at him, but in the next moment, T had swiped across his face with a wipe and the resulting expression was absolutely amazing. With the large dishes in the sink, I blocked Mycroft’s exit and pointed at the kitchen chair. “Sit.”

He arched a brow at me. “Whatever for?”

I crossed my arms over my chest and leveled him with the best doctor stare I could muster. I could win a battle of wills with a nine year-old. I could. Mycroft Holmes or not. When I didn’t wilt immediately under his glare, he gave a resigned sigh and plopped into the chair. It was an artful sulking flop into the chair, but somehow he managed to land with achingly upright posture. I set a small plate with half an apple and half a sandwich on the table in front of him. “Eat,” I said flatly.

He frowned at me.

I frowned back. “I’d bet you didn’t eat breakfast. You didn’t have tea. And if you don’t have lunch, you’ll drop like a rock.”

“I very much doubt that.”

“Children have nearly double the basal metabolic rate of adults.” It was a gross exaggeration, but I wasn’t sorry for it. “And you are running on fumes. And do you know what children tend to do when they drop their blood sugars?”

He glared mulishly.

“They become emotionally labile.” I cocked a brow at him. “They cry.”

He visibly recoiled. “That is a half truth at best.”

I shrugged. “And you spent so much of your childhood going unfed? Please. Eat something. I don’t want to see what happens if you have a breakdown in front of your brother, and I really don’t want to ring what’s-her-face and have her come collect you.” I leaned against the doorjamb to block the view of the sitting room. “But if you want to push your luck, go for it. Why listen to me? I’m only a doctor.”

His eyes tightened, but he caved, picking up the sandwich and nibbling primly at the edges. “One might question the wisdom of a doctor who spends her spare time decorating others’ flats and breaking into government installations,” he murmured almost absently.

I smirked at him. “BBC Cardiff is hardly a government installation. Besides, wouldn’t you rather question the person that brought an exploding, de-agifying, glowing box into your brother’s flat… twice?”

The expression on his face morphed sharply. “That may be the most sensible thing you’ve said all day.”

“I haven’t reached my coffee quota yet.” I poked my head into the sitting room. “Hey, Nicole. I need to borrow Kevin for a moment.” Kevin made a weird squawk as Nicole set him on the floor and motioned towards the kitchen. “C’mon, Kevin. I’ll give you an extra biscuit.”

“BRILLIANT!”

I scooped him up as he reached the kitchen and set him on one of the chairs. I pointed Mycroft to his apple. “Finish eating.” Mycroft frowned, but started picking at the remaining food. “Kevin,” I twisted him round to face me.

“Biscuit?”

I shook my head. “I need to ask you something first.”

“Ah. Yes. Fantastic. I like questions.”

“Do you?”

“YES!” He nearly bounced off of his chair. “That one’s brilliant.”

I tried not to groan. “Right. I need to ask you things and I need you to answer them,” I clarified.

“Oh. But what if I don’t know the answer? Because there’s loads of stuff I don’t know.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Inconceivable.”

I shot him a dirty look then gave Kevin a polite smile. “If you don’t know, then you don’t know. And you just say so.” Kevin gave a nod, so I leveled a serious expression at him. “Kevin, who gave you the package?”

Kevin sucked in a breath and held it. Kept holding it. Kept on holding it until his face started to change colors. God give me strength.

“Kevin, breathe, please.”

He sucked in a fresh breath and giggled.

“You’re a nutter. Kevin, do you know who gave you the box?”

“Nooooo…” he said slowly, then promptly tumbled off the chair.

“Jesus,” I lunged forward and managed to catch him before he hit the floor. Tempting fate, I set him back on the chair. “Kevin. Please. You know who gave you the box, yes?” his entire face scrunched, but he nodded. “Ok. Good. Was it the same person that gave you all… three? Three boxes?” I raised a brow. He winced and nodded again. “Right. So. Who gave them to you?”

It looked like he was going to hold his breath again, but finally he blurted out, “Not John.”

“N-not John?” I glanced at Mycroft.

“Definitely,” Kevin’s head bobbed enthusiastically. “Not John.”

“So… John didn’t give it to you?”

“No. Not John.”

“So…” This conversation was making my head hurt. “Who gave it to you?”

“Did not!” T called from the sitting room.

I sighed heavily. “Kevin?”

“Yes.”

“Who gave you the package?”

“Not John.”

“Not John.”

“Yup. Because there’s John and there’s Not John and sometimes I can’t tell, because like they look alike, but they’re not alike. Same same, but not same. Metaphorically speaking.”

I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. “Right. Ok. So. Not John. Do you know where it came from? Before it was given to you?”

“Oh, yes. Definitely.”

I blinked at him. “Where?”

“Bakersville.”

“Bakersville?” Never heard of it.

Kevin smiled and nodded. Mycroft made an oddly strangled sound and paled beneath his freckles. Strange. “Can I have my biscuit now?”

“Y-yeah,” I mumbled, lifting him from the chair and setting him on his feet. I opened one of packages on the counter and handed Kevin a biscuit. “Off you go.” He scampered off into the sitting room and launched himself onto Nicole with a giggle. I frowned for a moment then made up my mind. I fished another two biscuits out of the packages and offered one to Mycroft. “What’s Bakersville?” He knew. He knew and he didn’t want to tell me. I waved the biscuit at him. “Come on. You know.”

He scowled. “Bribery, Dr. Murphy? Honestly, is that the best you can do?”

I grinned. “Absolutely. I’m shameless.” I took a bite of the other biscuit. “And these are double chocolate with chocolate chips. Mmmm.”

He frowned outright. “You cannot bate me with a biscuit.”

I smirked. “Probably true. But here’s the thing. You know. And you can’t go ringing people and menacing them as you normally would when your voice currently hasn’t dropped. Where as I have years of practice verbally shaming people into submission. And I still sound old enough to purchase alcohol legally.” I took another bite of my biscuit. “And I’ll have to go to the gym to deal with this biscuit, because I don’t currently have the metabolism of a pre-teen.”

He huffed and clenched his jaw.

“Bakersville?”

“Treason for breach of confidentiality,” he said flatly.

“Please. Like anyone would believe me.” I held out the biscuit. “Some random pleb bought off Mycroft Homes with a biscuit. They’d put me away.” I raised a brow. “Bakersville.”

He snatched the biscuit from me. “Baskerville.”

“Baskerville?”

He sighed. “They do… research. For a wide variety of… fields.”

“Ah.”

“There’s a number of sorts. I’ll have to send someone down. But it might prove profitable to ring. Have a conversation.”

I sighed. “Right. Ok. I’ll call.”

I watched him take a prim bite of the biscuit. “Oh. Dr. Murphy. I am serious about the treason.”

I smiled wryly. “Yeah. I know you are. And I’d really rather not die in a black site prison. I promise.”

“Wise choice.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

He recited a number as I punched it into my mobile. “I would advise forgetting that number as quickly as possible.”

“What number?” The corner of his mouth twitched and I smiled. “Finish your lunch then maybe keep an eye on them? I’m going to step upstairs to make this call. And you are the closest thing resembling an adult left.”

He preened, but managed a flat response. “I weep for the future.”

I poked my head into the sitting room. “You all ok if I make a call?”

“If you’re ok with me doing arts and crafts with the little ones,” Nicole answered.

“Drawing hour!” Fleur cried.

Jam pouted. “No.”

“We can make biscuits,” T stage-whispered. That got a smile.

_Mew_

Helpful, as always, Three, I thought bitterly. “Try not to burn down the flat, yeah?” The grins I received in response were not particularly reassuring. Fate favors the brave, right? “Yeah,” I mumbled, scooping up my med bag and heading for John’s room. Best make the call in private.

I dumped the bag in the corner in the room and glanced around before moving restlessly in the space. I paced a few times. And when I walked the length of John’s room for a fifth time, I let out a frustrated growl. This was a terrible idea. I had no business ringing some random government installation. I had halfway convinced Mycroft, but he was literally a child right now and he certainly couldn’t make the call. Maybe I could just ring the Detective Inspector, he could call. Or that assistant who kept dropping by, like a ninja, or an assassin. No, no. Wait, I shouldn’t want her dropping by. And she was busy with the package itself.

I scrubbed at my face and looked at the number on my screen, then looked away in panic. I did not want to be able to recognize the number anytime in the future. Oh God, I could already recite it. Fuck! Ok, calm down, E. Calm down. You are an adult. And a doctor. And you can handle a phone call. I perched on the edge of John’s bed and hit the send button, listening to the benign ringing sound before the line connected.

“Baskerville product support and complaints department, how can I help you?”

I furrowed my brow. Ok. That was not what I expected. “Uh… Hi…”

“Hello, how can I help you?”

It was a… normal sounding voice. And a normal sounding introduction. “Um.” I ran a hand through my hair. “I don’t know that I’m through to the right department, number, person exactly…” I stood and started pacing again. How do you ask if a secret research facility lost some of their exploding magenta ooze?

“You’re through to me,” the voice said kindly. “Support and complaints. E.”

I froze. “What?”

“E,” the voice repeated. “How can I help you?”

“How… How do you know?”

“How do I know what?”

I hugged my spare arm around my torso. This was getting weird. “How do you know my name? Am I popping up on some sort of caller ID?” Oh no. I should have used someone else’s mobile. Shit. SHIT!

“I’m sorry?”

“E,” I said flatly.

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

There was a long pause. “Perhaps we should begin this call again. Hello, Baskerville product support and complaints department, this is E, how can I help you?”

I blinked. Then a laugh burst out of me. “Oh God. I’m sorry.”

“It’s quite alright, I hope. How can I help you, ma’am?”

“Um. E.” I reigned in the mirth. “I go by E as well.”

“Ah, yes. Of course. E, I’m also E. What can I do for you?”

“So. Here’s the thing,” I found myself shifting nervously. “Are you, by any chance, maybe missing three boxes of sparkly pink ooze that explodes and… Maybe makes… Sort of changes… Turns people into children, maybe?”

I thought I heard a soft intake of breath. “Hold please!”

The line went silent. Shit. They probably think I’m a complete nutter. I sound enough like one. Then I was suddenly aware that not only could they have my mobile number, they were probably tracing it. How long before a bunch of commandos storm the flat and arrest us all? Well, they wouldn’t arrest a bunch of children… Just me and T and Nicole and Fleur. Oh God, what have I done. I chewed on my thumb nail as I considered hanging up.

“E, are you still there?”

“Um, yes.” I let out a nervous laugh.

“You said sparkly _pink_ ooze, yes?”

“Yes. That explodes out of boxes.”

“Ah. Right. Yes. Hold please.”

The line went silent again. Fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck. Oh God, what if there wasn’t a fix for this? What if there was only the de-aging thing, and it was experimental, and they hadn’t developed a way to reverse it? And then everyone had to grow up all over again? Mycroft would… Would kill me. For sure. And Jam! How could she be a kid again? And there aren’t any parents! I cannot be a parent! HOLY SHIT!

“E?”

“Yeah?” I tried to keep my breathing even.

“There may have been a slight breach in security. Experimental substances are not designed for exposure to the general populace. And I must ask how you got our number.”

I chewed on my lower lip. “I… I’m not sure if I can… I mean…”

“Right. Might I assume that you received the technical support number from one of the affected individuals?”

“Yeah, that’d be a safe assumption.” I thought about Mycroft discovering me revealing his situation and my gut clenched. He probably could text someone and have me disappeared.

“Hm…” I could hear keys tapping through the connection. “Do you know how the boxes were introduced to the general populace?”

I winced. “There’s a guy, kid really, now a kid actually, got them from someone he called ‘Not John,’ and I can’t tell if he literally means the guy’s name isn’t John, or if he’s being metaphorical about it, but he’s…”

“MOTHER OF GOD! META!” The line cut out again.

“Hello?” Oh shit. Oh no, what had I said? “Hello?” Did they hang up? I braced myself for the home invasion.

The line clicked back in and the voice was calm again. “My apologies, E.”

I chuckled. I was not amused. I was about to panic. “Um. So…”

“Yes. I suspect I know how this came about. You said three boxes?”

“I think so.”

“And may I ask how many individuals are affected?”

“Yeah.” I stared at the door for a minute. “I think it’s six. Six people.”

“Six?!”

“Yeah.” I sighed. “And a cat.”

“A cat?” she asked flatly.

“Well, Kevin and Three seem to be rather inseparable.”

“Kevin? Kevin the intern?”

“Know him, do you?” I tried to imagine Kevin working for the government.

“He’s a… rather brilliant soul.”

I laughed. “You do know him.”

“He was briefly employed with our IT department. Now. Is everyone affected of an age that they might be able to chew and swallow an anti-dote?”

“There’s an anti-dote?!” I felt so light I was dizzy. Oh thank Christ.

“Of course.”

“Um. Yes. I… I think so. I mean, I’m minding five of them, the other is… Elsewhere. And there’s the kitten. But yes.”

There was a pause as more tapping went on. “And, would you have a trusted individual that could collect the necessary supplies from one of our vendors?”

“One of your vendors… Where?” Maybe we could send Mycroft’s assistant. Or… Alex or Ami?

“We have an office in the Wimbledon Lawn Tennis Club Pro Shop, one at the Playhouse Theater box office, one at the butcher’s stall in the Borough’s Market, and one here in Dartmore.”

“Um… I… Yeah, I have someone. Maybe… Did you say the Playhouse?”

“Yes. You can send someone to the Playhouse ticket office tomorrow morning, have them request box seats for the next available Spamalot production, and we will ensure you are supplied with instructions for administration of the anti-dote and adequate supplies.”

“Right. Ok. Tomorrow. They’re not… I don’t know… They’ll be fine until tomorrow, won’t they?”

“Look after them as if they were children. They shall be fine.”

“Right.” I sighed and suppressed a smile. “Right. Ok. Thanks.”

“We will be in touch, E.”

“Oh… Wait, what? Why?”

“Thank you for your call to Baskerville product support and complaints. We appreciate your continued patronization.” The line clicked off.

I stared at the phone. Right. Ok. I sat heavily on the bed. It was fixable. We were going to be fine. Thank God. Ok. Now to coordinate the collection, because I sure as hell wasn’t leaving these kids alone. I rang Alex first.

“Bonjour?”

“Alex?”

“E, ça va?”

I took a deep breath and let out a nervous laugh. “I don’t even know how to answer that right now. C’mere. You busy tomorrow morning?”

“Not particularly. What do you need?”

“I need someone to go pick up a package and bring it to me. And I really need someone I trust, and who can be discrete. And I’m going to ask Ami to join you, because I’m now thinking you shouldn’t go alone.”

“What did you do?”

“What do you mean?” I asked innocently.

“E, tu n’es pas stupide. Ne me prends pas pour un imbécile.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed. “Look. You’re not an idiot. I just… It’s complicated. And… Do you remember the guy that hijacked our bus?”

“Bien sûr.”

“Well, let’s just say that it’s a… Favor for him. That we can’t turn down.”

“Ah, d’accord. What do you need and when?”

“I need you to collect a package from the Playhouse ticket office tomorrow morning.”

“The ticket office? Tu te moques de moi.”

“I’m not!” I insisted. “It’s complicated. Alex, please. I want Ami to go with you. The pair of you need to go to the ticket office and request box seats to the next production of Spamalot. I know I sound crazy. I know. But please.”

“T’as craqué.”

“Can you reserve judgment until you collect it and bring it here.”

“Where is ‘here’?”

I winced. “Baker Street.”

Alex burst out laughing. “Cinglée.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Alright. Pas de problème. I’ll call when I have it. And let me call Ami. Qu’on puisse bien se foutre de toi.”

“I expect nothing less.” I forced a smile even though I was on the phone. “Thanks, Alex. I mean it.”

“De rien. À demain.”

“Ciao,” I said wryly and hung up the phone. Right. Good. We were good. This was going to be fixed. I stood. Best to be getting back downstairs. Lord only knew what they’d be up to in the half hour I was gone. As long as no one died…

My mobile rang, jarring me from my moment of calm and I answered without checking the number. “Hello?” Please don’t be Baskerville…

“I am wather displeased that I’ve been fowced to call you myself, Doctow Muhphy.”

I frowned. What? “I-I’m sorry?”

There was a loud, airy, irritated sigh, and the child-like voice was back. “This is demeaning. Youw head would make a splendid twophy mounted on my wall.”

“W-what?” I bit back a nervous laugh. That was a horrifyingly graphic thing to say. What type of child would… O-oh. Oh. Shit. Fuck me. “Is this… Jim?”

There was a hiss of displeasure. “So vewy glad you’ve joined the convewsation.”

Oh God. He had a speech impediment. Do not laugh, Laney. He’ll definitely kill you. “Forgive me. I wasn’t really expecting your call.”

“No? Odd. Seeing as you’ve appropwiated my nephew and my cat.”

“Ah. Right.” I chewed on my cheek for a moment. “About that.”

“I would like them wetuwned. Now.”

“So… Kevin… Bless his heart. Has managed to… Create a situation, of sorts.”

“Is that so.”

I shuddered. “He managed to find another box.”

“Did he now. How… intewesting.”

Interesting? No. It wasn’t interesting. It was infuriating. “I’m more than happy to, you know, give them back to you, but…”

“But?”

“Well I can’t just pop a four year-old and a kitten in a cab, can I? Lord only knows where Kevin would end up!”

“Don’t be widiculous!”

“I’m not. But he’s… He’s a small child and. Well. He doesn’t seem to keep his clothes on.”

“Ludicwous! Pwepostewous! Absuwd! WUBBISH! GODDAMMIT!”

There was a shuffling sound and a brief moment of quiet on the other end of the line before a low, cold voice came on the line. “I’ll collect them from you.”

“I…” Oh no. I recognized that voice.

“You…” he paused. “Will tell me where I can collect the pair of them. Now.”

“I. Right. Um…” I winced. “Baker Street.”

“That wasn’t so hard. I will be there shortly.”

The line clicked off and I dropped my head between my knees and tried to breathe. Great. Bloody great. Kevin’s Uncle’s bodyguard or whatever he was, he could just kill me if he wanted, that was for sure, he’d be up and coming to collect them! Like some sort of after school playdate. The last time I’d seen the man, I had hoped it was _the_ last time I’d ever have to speak to him. And even then, I didn’t know what was more terrifying, the large bloke, or the idea that Uncle Jim was a kid. A really, really fucked-up kid! God help us.

There was a very light knock on the door that startled me from my manic thoughts. I ran a hand through my hair and sighed. “Come in.”

I didn’t actually know whom I was expecting. With a knock, it wouldn’t have been Sherlock, or Jam, or Kevin. The girls would have been louder. Maybe John. But I certainly was not expecting Mycroft. He opened the door and sighed heavily. “Apologies…”

I blinked. What on earth?! “Is that…”

“Glitter paint, yes.”

“And…”

“Stickers.” His shoulders seemed to droop slightly. “And flowers…”

I blinked again. “Did they gang up on you?”

He nodded.

“Right. Ok.” I pushed up off of the bed and rummaged in my med bag, pulling out a stack of remove pads and alco-wipes. “Let’s have a look, yeah? These will clean spray paint off a wall.”

It was a bit odd to see Mycroft so resigned as I scrubbed the glitter paint and the Sharpie (dammit, Fleur!) from his face and arms, then peeled the stickers off with the help of some remove pads. His skin turned an angry red, so I went so far as to wipe everything off with some distilled water and gauze. When I threw the last wipe into the rubbish, he gave me a rather desperate look.

I just shook my head. “How much of a mess have they made?”

He sniffed, “Impressively large?”

“Feck’s sake.” I scrubbed at my face. “Right.” I grabbed a book from John’s shelf and handed it to Mycroft. “You’re on a time out. Or something. I don’t know. Just… Stay up here and read or take a nap or stay out of trouble.”

Some of the desperation left his face. “A time out?”

“Yeah. Sure. You’re grounded.” He rolled his eyes at me and shook a finger at him. “So much trouble. All the trouble. Just,” I huffed out a laugh. “Is Kevin at least still in his clothes?”

The corner of Mycroft’s mouth twitched. “More or less.”

“Oh Lord. And to think, we’re stuck like this for the night.”

“The night?”

I nodded as I headed for the door. “Good news, there’s an antidote. Bad news, it’s being shipped in from Dartmore. Good news, I’ve someone collecting it and dropping it by. Bad news, not until tomorrow.”

“I see.” He sat gingerly on the edge of the bed.

“Things could be worse,” I said with a grin. “Jam could have been the adult in all of this.”

“That would have been an unprecedented disaster,” he muttered.

“Yup. Read your book. I’ll be back up when I’ve tamed the wild rumpus downstairs.” It was only when I closed the door that I realized he hadn’t argued with the choice of book. Huh. As for downstairs, I could hear the giggles and shouts and ruckus from the stairs. Great. Literally gone for an hour and it’s chaos.

I stepped into the sitting room and had to take a moment to comprehend what was going on. Fleur was in Sherlock’s chair, a sketchpad out, sharpies spread across her lap and spilling onto the floor, and a rather familiar looking flower crown on her head. She had a few stickers on her cheeks and what looked like a heart drawn on her nose. That was nothing compared to John and Sherlock, who looked as though they’d rolled in a glitter pit. They had hand prints of glitter paint on their clothes and faces, and I was fairly certain that while Sherlock’s face was decorated with stickers, John’s was carefully drawn designs in permanent marker. And they were wrestling across the floor. A soft mewing sound came from the window and I found Three halfway up the curtains with what looked like the BBCThree logo artfully painted on one of his sides, the BBCThree Blob painted on the other, and a small flower crown around his head. “Jesus,” I breathed.

A puff of white powder exploded from the kitchen as Jam shouted a loud exclamation and Kevin laughed loudly, “BRILLIANT!”

“Kevin!” Jam cried and there was a thud and the sound of running feet and shrieks.

I rounded the corner to see Jam chasing Kevin around the kitchen table. She was covered in streaks of flour and icing and sprinkles. Kevin was in a similar state, but his arms were coated in flour up to his elbows and it looked as though he’d run his hands through his hair. Oh God. Jam had… She had a spoonful of jam and was aiming to launch it at Kevin. “JAM! NO!”

Kevin squealed and dove under one of the chairs and Jam hollered at him. I could only assume it was something rude, but it was so thick on the drawl that I couldn’t understand her. One of the kitchen chairs overturned. The oven was on. IT WAS ON! Where did T and Nicole go? What was happening?!

Sherlock let out a loud and irritated shriek and I turned to see the cap off of one of the bottles of glitter paint, and half of it had spilled onto his belly… bare skin, since his shirt was rucked up around his armpits from the wrestling. John looked horrified for a moment before doubling over in a fit of giggles. Sherlock launched himself at John and instantly smeared roughly half of the mess across John.

“Fleur! Where did Nicole go?!”

Fleur looked up and gave a small shrug. “They needed food coloring for the icing. They should be back in a minute.”

“We don’t need food coloring!” Three slipped down the curtains, his claws tearing neat tracks down the fabric. I let out a whine of frustration. “Fleur, can you rescue the kitten?”

The splat of something cold and wet hitting the side of my face made me press my eyes shut and shudder for a moment. I turned to find Jam standing in the kitchen, empty spoon in her hand and a rather surprised look on her face. “Oops. I missed,” she giggled.

Then a blob of icing smacked into the back of her head and her smile vanished. “KEVIN!” I snapped.

“Wheeee!” he cried and started running again.

“NO! KEVIN!” Leave your shirt on you wonderful little idiot. Nope, his shirt was gone. Jam had tried to wipe the icing from her hair and only managed to spread it deeper and cover both of her hands. Her face wrinkled and she held both hands out at me. “NO! Stay there!”

“Aw, they started decorating without us,” T complained from the kitchen door.

“Not sure I’d call that decorating,” Nicole chided.

“Maybe abstract art?” T offered.

“What are you doing?” I hissed angrily. “You left the oven on.” Jam knocked something from the table and I heard it splat onto the floor. “Jam. Stop!”

“Wheee!” Kevin jumped onto the puddle of icing on purpose. It had to be on purpose. He clearly could see it on the floor. His arms pin wheeled as he slid into the cabinets with a thud. Then he giggled.

“Kevin, please!”

“I’d be more worried about the glitter paint,” T suggested.

“Pretty sure that’s permanent,” Nicole added.

“Permanent?!” I cried. “For the love of God, why? Why would you bring permanent paint for kids to play with?”

“This is permanent?!” John bellowed in his little, five year-old voice.

Sherlock chuckled and wiped a finger purposefully across John’s cheek. “So are sharpies, John.”

“No, don’t!” Oh my God. Oh. My. God. No wonder Mycroft needed to escape this.

_MEW!_

Fleur was trying to tug Three off of the curtains, and it seemed as though he just didn’t want to get down.

“Tell me you didn’t glue the flowers onto that poor cat. Please. Please tell me.”

Fleur smiled. “It’s not super glue.”

I tried to scrub at my face and realized a moment too late that I still had a fresh splotch of jam decorating my cheek. I groaned. “Can one of you, any of you, please act like an adult for one bloody second?”

Everyone in the room burst into giggles and for a moment, I really and truly thought I was in danger of killing all of them.

“WHAT IN THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON?!”

I jumped nearly a foot and rotated mid air, landing unsteadily and hoping the tight feeling in my chest wasn’t an actual heart attack. Whatever sound I made was loud enough and pathetic enough that the Detective Inspector’s expression softened slightly from absolutely enraged to bloody pissed off and a little sad for me. Three let out an odd, short mew and dropped from the curtains onto Fleur’s head.

Sherlock grinned and scrambled to his feet, holding out his arm as if to shake hands with Lestrade. “Ah, Detective Inspector, you have a case. Don’t be tedious.”

“No!” I scolded, eying the paint all over his fingers. “Don’t even think about it.”

Sherlock wrinkled his nose at me, but John smacked him up the backside of his head and their squealing wrestling match resumed with a loud thud and intermittent giggles.

“Wheeee!”

Oh God. “Kevin, please!”

In just his pants and one sock, Kevin tossed a handful of sprinkles into the air over Jam’s head. And of course they stuck to icing already smeared there. Jam wailed loudly and I cringed as she scooped a glob of jam out of the jar and lunged at Kevin. Oh God.

“Aw, it’s like a jam biscuit,” T snickered.

“Jammy dodgers,” Nicole added.

“THAT IS ENOUGH!”

Everyone froze. I figured if I felt like a kid caught out at school, all the wee ones must have been responding the same. Lestrade glared at the seeming adults in the room and crossed his arms over his chest. “I honestly don’t care who you are...”

“I’m Who,” T offered.

Lestrade’s eyes narrowed as he stared T down. It was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop. Even Three was perfectly still, hiding half behind Fleur’s flower crown. Maybe no one would kill me, maybe Lestrade would just kill everyone else.

The silence was broken by an airy, long, whining fart sound.

I gaped at Nicole. For a moment, I thought she was going to deny it. But then she just shrugged. T started giggling, then Nicole was laughing so hard she fell over.

“Wheee!” Kevin sprawled on top of her. “Floor potato!”

T laughed hard enough that she lost her breath, doubled over, and toppled to the ground. “Shit! Cramp! Leg cramp!”

I covered my eyes with both hands. “Just kill me.” Ugh, I still had jam on my face.

Jam gave a mighty cry, and I could hear the squishy splat as she smeared raspberry jam across Kevin’s back.

“Right,” Lestrade growled. He shed his coat and jacket, tossing them onto the banister out in the hall. He cuffed both sleeves and pointed at Fleur. “You, with the flowers. Put the kitten in that basket so it stops shredding the curtains.” Fleur stopped just short of nodding, not wanting to dislodge Three and lose him. “Sherlock!” Lestrade barked. “Enough! Clean up your mess!”

The pair of boys spilled apart, rolling to sit on the floor, a guilty flush on both of their faces. “Sorry,” John mumbled. “It was my fault.”

“Whee!!!” And Kevin was off and running again.

“Hey! Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb! Up off the floor! Turn the oven off and start cleaning this!”

T pouted and Nicole let out another small fart.

“AHHH!” Jam lunged for Kevin as he ran past again.

“And you two,” Lestrade muttered, grabbing Jam in one arm and snatching Kevin up in the other, holding them under his arms like giant wriggling rugby balls. “Straight into the bath. Clothes and all,” he glared at Jam. “And clothes and none,” he eyed Kevin as though he were the oddest thing he’d seen.

“I… I’ll find them something clean,” I murmured.

He looked at me again and I couldn’t tell if he was cross at me or just cross in general. “You do know you have jam and glitter on you, yeah?”

I sighed. “Yeah.”

“I expect this flat to be _spotless_ when I’m done with these two!” The bathroom door slammed in his wake and I heard the pipes groan and two shrill squeals to accompany the subsequent splashing.

T sighed and pushed herself off the floor and tugged Nicole up next to her. “Ah well…”

Nicole gave a small smile. “Was fun while it lasted.”

“Impossible for it to go any other way, really. A mission like this,” T added.

“Impossible missions,” Nicole murmured with a grin.

It was Fleur that started it. The humming. I groaned as T and Nicole joined it. “Please stop humming the Mission Impossible theme song!” They giggled and kept going, but at least they were tidying up as they did. “Hey, T, what happened to the…”

She thrust a packet of wipes into my open hand. “The hand wipes?”

“Thanks.” I looked at the boys and frowned. “Jesus, it’s just everywhere…” I squatted down in front of John, where he was standing and toying with the edge of his t-shirt. “Alright, let’s have a look at you. Shirt’s probably a lost cause, pop that off there.”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled through the cotton as he struggled to get his arms free.

“Hey, Fleur? Can you go into the bedroom and find something clean John can wear. There’s a whole pile of stuff back there.” I glanced at Sherlock; he was sitting cross-legged on the floor, pouting. “And something for Sherlock too? You’ll know whose is whose. Oh, and if you can drop Jam’s and Kevin’s fresh pjs into Lestrade?”

“Sure,” Fleur disappeared into the bedroom.

“Right you,” I tugged John free of his t-shirt and huffed out a laugh. “It is everywhere.”

His face flushed a deep shade of red as I started to carefully peel the few stickers from his cheeks and… God, the back of his neck. “Sorry,” he muttered, looking at his toes.

“Hey,” I chucked him gently under the chin, more so I could start trying to scrub the marker off of his face than anything else. “It’s alright.” He wrinkled his nose as I swiped at what looked like a biohazard symbol on his forehead. Huh, the wipes were getting almost all of it off.

“This was my fault. I’m sorry it’s such a mess.”

I sighed. Jesus, this kid. “Stop. It’s not your fault.” I glanced pointedly at the paint all over Sherlock, as I started to wipe the paint off of John’s arms. “Some of that, maybe.” I raised a brow. “But you’re not responsible for everyone else.”

He didn’t look convinced. “You know you have jam on your face.”

I started laughing. I laughed so hard I had to set a hand on the floor to keep from falling over. “I know,” I choked out. “Oh God, you’re going to be scrubbing glitter from your floorboards for months!”

He cracked a small smile. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Oh man. Like that time you came into work with the glitter all over!” I gestured for him to turn around. “God, it’s all over your back.”

John turned bright red. “Yeah, talk to your friend about that.”

I slowly stopped giggling and looked at the pile of wipes on the floor. “Yeah, that’s about as good as you’re going to get without a shower.” I pulled out a fresh wipe and scrubbed the jam from my own face. “Go on and put on something clean. I don’t think we’re leaving the flat for the rest of the day.”

John met Fleur halfway to the bedroom. She handed him his clothes and patted his head and let him pass, coming out with Sherlock’s clothes. “Here, E.”

Sherlock glanced up and made a rude sound. I rolled my eyes at him. “Alright, you giant disco ball. Let’s clean you up.”

He grumbled at me and moved as though to tug at his curls, but I caught his wrist just as it dawned on him how terrible an idea that might be. It took another five minutes to scrub most of the paint off of Sherlock and get him into clean clothes. John had reemerged and flopped in Sherlock’s chair, and no sooner as I had released Sherlock, he joined John on the chair. They looked nearly as exhausted as I felt.

Lestrade came out of the loo looking damp and only mildly less cross than when he’d gone in. He surveyed the flat, which thankfully was not in the same state as it had been. “I want all of you out. Now.”

“What?”

“Not you,” he growled at me. “Them!” He waved a hand at Nicole and T and Fleur. “Out.”

“Rude,” T muttered.

“Totally,” Nicole nodded.

“Now,” he grumbled, pointing at the door.

“Well, see if we help with the mess you’ve made,” Nicole nodded at the bathroom. “Besides, I don’t think he can count.”

“What mess?”

“C’mon, Fleur,” T snatched up the remains of her baking supplies. “He’ll be sorry in about two minutes.”

Fleur collected her bag, her sketchbook, her markers, and headed for the door. But stopped and tilted her head, looking Lestrade up and down for a moment. She pressed up on her toes and pecked his cheek, “Don’t ever change you glorious idiot.”

The way his jaw clenched, I worried he was about to yell again. But Fleur twirled a small pirouette and danced out the door after Nicole and T. When the door downstairs thudded closed, Lestrade rounded on me. “What did they mean about a mess? And about the counting thing?”

I shook my head, “I-I dunno. You didn’t drown the kids in the tub, did you?”

“What?! No! Of course not.”

I furrowed my brow, “Then where…”

“I left them to get dressed.” He waved a hand towards the loo. “Surely they’re…”

“WHEEE!!!!!”

I groaned as Kevin came flying out of the loo in a wee nudy blur. “Kevin!”

“What the bloody bugger?” Lestrade spun as Kevin whipped around him headed for the couch.

“E?!”

I turned back and gaped. Oh God. She looked like a giant ginger poof ball. “What did you do?”

“Too much hair,” she whined.

“Did you towel it dry? How did you even manage that, Jam?” I sighed, trying to remember what she normally used to keep the frizz at bay.

“WHHHHEEEEEEE!” Kevin came zipping past again.

“Jesus!” Lestrade hissed as he missed Kevin by a hand span. “How do you get him in clothes?”

I threw up my hands. “I dunno. John managed to wrestle him into a shirt earlier. Nicole is the one that actually knows how to handle him. Glad you kicked her out. I was doing so well with five kids and a kitten on my own earlier.”

He scowled at me. “Yeah, well maybe…” He froze, his eyes darting around the room. I could see him tick off the people left. “Wait, where’s Mycroft?!”

I huffed and crossed my arms; that’s what they meant about counting. “He’s upstairs. Reading. Like a civilized human being.”

“Are you sure? When did you last check on him?”

“I don’t know! Like half an hour ago! I’ve had my hands a bit full here, Lestrade!”

“Stay!” he snarled, pointing at me as he turned and bounded up the stairs.

Stay? What am I? Some sort of dog? I whined and scrubbed at my face. “Jam, just… just sit on the couch. I’ll be there in a mo. Don’t rub your hair with that towel!” I watched Kevin round the kitchen table and launched myself at him, managing to get my arms around him out of pure luck. “Now, you’re putting on clothes!”

It was like trying to get clothes on a bag of wriggling cats, but I was nearly done. Nearly had trousers on him, over the pants that had been a battle. He had a shirt. He had two socks. And there was a loud knock on the door downstairs. I stopped. Who on earth…

“E, door!” Jam called.

“NO ONE ANSWER THAT!” I called, crossing my fingers that Sherlock wouldn’t sneak down and let some rando in. “Kevin, please.” My mobile rang the moment the knocking stopped. “This is as good as you’re going to get, isn’t it?” I bundled him up in a jumper and propped him on my hip as I answered the phone. “H’lo”

“Hello.”

I froze and tried not to shudder. “Hi.”

“You said Baker Street.”

I chewed my lip. Right. Ok. “Yeah. That you knocking?”

The silence on the other end was deafening.

“Right. Ok. Let me just. I’ll be down in one minute.” I pocketed my mobile and darted out into the sitting room. “Where’s the cat?” Jam pointed to the corner where Three was curled up in… A Met filing box? I shook my head. “No one move. I’ll be back upstairs in a second.” I picked up the box with my free hand and groaned. The paint. The flowers. I was going to be murdered. “C’mon, Kevin. I’m sending you back to your uncle.”

“Yay!!!” Kevin bounced against my hip and I wobbled, narrowly avoiding dropping the box.

“You are a terror,” I muttered, picking my way down the stairs to the front door. I had to prop my knee against the wall and balance the box on my thigh as I pulled the door open. Then I lost my balance, stumbling to trap the box against my side without dislodging Three. Three decided the box was too unsteady and latched onto my arm, his kitten-sharp claws digging firmly through my shirt and into my skin. “Can you not?!” I bit back a yelp, dropped the box, huffed in exasperation and straightened up, bringing myself to shoulder height with the man at the door. I took a nervous step backwards.

“Seb, Seb, Seb, Seb, Seb, Seb, Seb!” Kevin chanted, bouncing on my hip.

“Hands full?”

My mouth twitched. “Could say that.”

“Seb, Seb, Seb, Seb, Seb!”

He smiled and it triggered a fight or flight response. The damn kitten must have sensed it, because he dug his claws in further. Did he have to be so creepy? “Come now,” he held out his hand and his smile grew. Clearly, yes. He did have to be creepy. I winced as Three disengaged his claws and slunk up the man’s arm to perch on his shoulder.

“Um,” I shifted around, bringing Kevin forward as he kept bouncing.

“Seb, Seb, Seb, Seb, Seb!”

“Kevin,” he said firmly. Kevin stopped and stared at him as he was collected. “Why does he only have one sock?”

How did he lose a sock in the past half a minute?! I ran a hand through my hair, “Um. He seems… averse to clothing right now?”

The man smirked. “Airplanes wear their clothing, Kevin.”

Kevin took a deep breath, “AIRPLANE!”

“Hush.”

I tried to smile, but I suspected it looked more like a wince. Kevin obeyed though, popping his thumb into his mouth and humming to himself. “So…”

The man’s face hardly moved. But even his passive expressions carried the hint of suggestion. “Tell me the plan is not to let them grow up again.”

“Right. No.” I shook my head. “There’s… I think… There’s a fix. But I won’t have it until tomorrow.”

“Morning.”

“Midday?”

“I’ll call you.”

I nodded. “Right. Yeah. Ok.”

The murderous smile returned. “Excellent.” He looked at Kevin, “They are so much easier to manage when they’re this size, don’t you think?”

“Uh. Yeah. Sure.”

He gave a curt nod and headed off down the street. I watched him go. God that guy was creepy. Creepier than Mycroft could be. And that was saying something. Oh… Shit. Mycroft. I closed the door and locked it, racing back up the stairs, half expecting the chaos to have erupted again in my absence. Shockingly, it was quiet. And that made me worry even more. But… Oh…

Sherlock and Jam were sitting on the couch together. And not fighting… Well that was good. I took another step into the room and realized that Sherlock was in the process of putting a second plait into Jam’s hair, which was smooth and a bit shiny, and most importantly not a ball of tangles. Huh. Whatever product he’d used seemed to be doing the trick and that was good, because I had no idea how to fix the poof ball that her head had been a few minutes ago. Well, I knew what I’d be getting Jam for Christmas. Then I caught a look at the label. Nope. Never in a million years could I afford that. Nevermind then.

John looked as though he had given up on pretending to be an adult and was burritoed in the tartan quilt, tucked into his chair. For a moment, I thought he might be asleep, but his face poked out of the folds of the blanket, “Everything ok, E?”

I forced a smile. “Hope so. Kevin can run his uncle ragged for the rest of the day.” I crossed over to Sherlock’s chair and flopped gracelessly into the leather.

“Maybe we’ll have a bit of peace and quite for once,” Sherlock mumbled. Jam poked him in the foot. He tugged on her hair in retaliation and she squawked indignantly.

“What part of either peace or quiet do you contribute to?” John giggled when Sherlock rolled his eyes at him.

“At least y’all keep your clothes on,” I muttered, then caught myself as I realized that was out loud. “God, I could use a nap.”

“Tired from the giant mess you made of the place then?” Lestrade asked from the door.

I frowned at him. “What?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Explain to me how, in the matter of a few hours, this place disintegrated into screams and food fights and unattended ovens.” He pointed at Jam. “That one had icing and sprinkles to the roots of her hair.” He pointed up the stairs. “Myc was pressganged into acting as a canvas for permanent markers? And these two,” he jerked his thumbs at Sherlock and John. “They made themselves into glitter balls!”

“Not the first time I’ve seen that,” Jam murmured gleefully.

“Not the first time it’s your fault.” Sherlock gave Jam’s hair another tug and she squealed and pinched his thigh. John giggled.

“And you,” Lestrade frowned at me. “What in the hell were you thinking bringing a gaggle of nutters into this flat?”

“They’re not nutters,” I grumbled. “And they’ll keep their mouths shut.”

“Bet your life on that do you?”

I pushed out of the chair. “I’d bet their lives on it, and I damn well did. Forgive me if I’m not used to minding five children at once!”

“You’re a bloody doctor, I’d assume you could make do,” he snapped back.

“Assumed did you? Just like you assumed Kevin wouldn’t run around like a naked lunatic?” I was angry now. Tired and angry.

“Where is that little hooligan? Lose him again?”

Oh now. “I’ve not lost one of them, thank you so much. I’ve pawned him back off on his uncle until tomorrow, and no bloody thanks to you!”

“You should have called in official help!”

I crossed my arms. “Should have? Who? Who was I supposed to call? You? Oh wait,” I mocked thinking hard. “I did, didn’t I. And you told me to deal with it. So I fucking did!”

“But that group? What the hell?!” He threw out his arms, closing the distance. “They’re bigger lunatics than Kevin was! And they are adults! You should have gotten Anthea in.”

“Sorry who?” I braced myself for a fight. The hold I had on my anger was wearing thin, but I was dug in now and I wasn’t going to back down.

“Works for Myc, polished, surgically attached to her mobile.”

“Currently dealing with the box that fucking well exploded in the middle of the flat and left me with an extra three kids and a kitten!” I was nearly shouting. It wasn’t like me to shout, but apparently I’d reached my break point. “And I’m sorry I’m not about to win parent of the year, but I don’t actually have any kids!”

“And thank god for that!”

“Oi!” I snapped angrily.

“Ow!” Lestrade bit back a loud cuss and hopped backwards. “Goddammit!”

“That’s for being mean!” Jam cried.

“Jam,” I snatched her off the floor. “You don’t… Don’t… Kick people… In the shins.”

“Jesus, where did you even find her?!” he growled through clenched teeth. “Oh. Oh God! She was already here, wasn’t she? Put her in a damn timeout!”

“Don’t yell at her! She’s five! What is wrong with you?”

“Wrong with me?! You weren’t even with them for a day before you had the loony bin giving you a hand!”

Jam made a small, but snarling face. “Fuck’s sake yer bein’ such a massive bawbag aboot a’hing! Staun’in there wi a face like a skelped arse! Sassanach lavvyheid.”

“Jam!”

“The bloody hell did she just say to me?!”

“I’m sure it was rude,” I gave her a scathing look as I shifted her farther back on my hip and away from Lestrade, then rounded back on him angrily. “But how dare you!”

“Me?! She sodding well kicked me!”

“I called you!”

“And I was busy doing my job!”

“SO WAS I!” I screamed. “I was supposed to be at work. WORK! Lestrade! That thing, that I do, that I’m fucking good at! And Mycroft Holmes bullied me into a car and dropped me in the middle of this!”

“Don’t you play innocent with me! He knew you would say yes!”

“And you were already here! Never tell _him_ no, do ya?!”

His eyes narrowed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I fished Sherlock out of a duck pond yesterday! And I was phoned by the fucking creepiest person I’ve ever met in my life! And I had to bribe Mycroft Holmes with a goddammed biscuit! And I have managed to source a fix for this whole absurd problem that NO ONE will ever believe happened in the first fucking place!”

“The ONLY thing you had to do was keep a level head, make sure they didn’t end up hurt, and keep your bloody mouth shut! How is that so difficult?!”

“No one got hurt!”

“Not yet, doctor! But wait until one of your friends publishes photos of this! One day! You had to mind them for one day!”

“First of all. It’s two going on three days! And B. You can’t even mind the pair of them when they’re fucking adults!”

His grin looked like a snarl. “Don’t tell me you can’t manage them when they’re only little.”

“Fuck you, Lestrade!” I stepped up into his space and dropped my voice. “Fuck you.” I set Jam down on the nearest chair. “Sod this. I need some air.”

“Where the fuck are you going?” he demanded.

“What does it even matter?” I snapped, grabbing my coat up and heading for the door. “It’s not like you can’t handle this for ten goddammed minutes, super dad.” He let out an agitated growl and threw his hands up as I spun to leave.

_Sniff_

And it was quiet. The whole flat fell silent. And I couldn’t get my feet to carry me out the door. I clenched my jaw and pressed my eyes shut. Temper. This stupid temper.

_Sniff_

I opened my eyes and found Mycroft sitting on the stairs halfway up to John’s room, wide-eyed, and ashen. Oh God.

“E?” Jam sounded smaller than I’d heard before.

My shoulders hunched up and I sighed, turning back into the room. “Jam, I’ll be…”

_Sniff_

I’ll be damned. I’ll be going to hell. I’m a fucking horrible person. I wasn’t Jam that was the problem; it was Sherlock. He’d all but curled up in himself on the far end of the couch, his face buried in his knees. But he was crying. It was quiet and still, but I could see the tears tracking down his cheek where visible around his bony limbs and beneath the curls. Jam looked horrified. Lestrade just looked resigned. And John…

Shit.

_Sniff_

Where was John? His chair was empty, the blanket abandoned. “Shit.” I gave Mycroft a pleading look and he shook his head ever-so-slightly. Shit. Shit shit shit. Fuck. I dashed down the hall to Sherlock’s room and threw the door open. God they’d made a mess in here. Clothes everywhere. Blankets and pillows. “John?” Nothing. Under the bed? In the wardrobe? God, where? He wasn’t in the bedroom, or the bathroom, or the kitchen. “John?” I did a rapid search of the sitting room from the entryway. No. No way he’d be able to hide in there. I glared at Lestrade and pointed at Sherlock. “Fix this!” Then I headed for the stairs.

Mycroft looked worried. “He’s not up.”

I nodded. Down then. “John?” Front door was closed and locked. Back door was closed and locked. The door to C was closed and locked. Could John even reach the locks right now? I growled to myself. Where would he… Oh! Oh. Mrs. Hudson’s door wasn’t locked. The flat was dark, unlit, streetlights filtering through the small breaks in the curtains. When had it become evening? It was hushed and still and seemed undisturbed; no one had been in here in days. I closed my eyes and listened. It seemed odd that he’d go to her bedroom or bathroom. Maybe the kitchen, but at a glance, there was nowhere to hide in there.

Ah. There was a press in the front hall. Like a coat closet. “John?” I cracked the door open and dropped down to one knee. Aw hell. He’d balled himself up in the corner of the cupboard, looking awfully small, awfully frightened, and an awful lot like Sherlock had looked up on the sofa. “Hey,” I said gently. He sniffed and tightened the grip he had round his knees. “Right,” I sighed. “Ok. I’ll join you then.”

It was a bit awkward. I’m short, but I’m not as small as I used to be. I still managed to squish myself between the coats and shoes and broom and box of scarves to lean against the back of the press. I stretched my legs out and crossed them at the ankles then hummed, “This is a lovely cupboard, isn’t it?”

John let out a wet sounding huff.

My mouth twitched. “Yeah, I knew I should have gone into comedy.”

John sighed and peeked up at me. “You are not funny.”

“No?” I raised both brows. “Well damn.” He wasn’t crying. Not really. Just… trembling. Shivering maybe. “Cold?”

He shook his head.

“Good. We’re in a press full of scarves and jackets and if you freeze in here, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

That earned me another soft huff. I’d take it.

“Alright?” He wasn’t alright. I knew it. It was a terrible lead in. But I just had to cross my fingers and hope he wouldn’t try to lie.

He was quiet for a long while. “It’s too big,” he whispered.

“What’s too big?”

“All of it.” He shrugged up one of his shoulders. “I don’t know, E. It’s like it doesn’t fit. It’s all… It’s too big to fit when…”

“Ah,” I lifted my arm, holding it out for him. “Forty year-old trapped in a five year-old’s body.” His face convulsed in a series of expressions that were nearly too quick to follow. “C’mon,” I tilted my head. “I’m sitting on the floor of a cupboard; this is on a long list of things I’ll never tell anyone.”

He furrowed his brow and made an odd sound high in his throat, but a moment later, he was unwrapping himself and pressed against my side. I shifted to better accommodate the hug, closing my arms around his shoulders.

“I’m sorry I yelled,” I murmured. He shook his head, but I pressed on. “No, that was rude. I’m an adult, I know how to use an indoor voice. I shouldn’t have been yelling. I shouldn’t have lost my temper. And I’m sorry it was so upsetting.”

He sniffed and nodded.

“And I need something from you. Let’s say for the next eighteen hours. Can you do something for me?”

I felt him shrug.

“Because sometime tomorrow, I hope to have this all fixed. But in the mean time, I need you to stop blaming yourself for all of this. And stop trying to be responsible for everyone.”

He pressed his forehead against my shoulder and laughed wetly.

“No, I’m serious. Stop. Because it’s like you said. It’s too big. You are literally knee-high to a chicken right now, and it won’t fit. So just stop. Let me and Lestrade shoulder this and be the adults, not that we made much of a show of it. And you just be a kid. For the next few hours.” I ruffled his hair. “Ok?”

“Kay,” he muttered.

I nodded. “Good.”

“How did you know where I’d be?”

I sighed, “Woman’s intuition?”

He snorted. “You won’t tell, will you?”

“Tell what?”

“Where I was.”

“Where were you?” I asked wryly.

“Right.” He nodded and some of the tension drained away. It was a gentle quiet. Peaceful, all things considered. And I kept him wrapped in a hug for however long it took him to calm back down. Then he sat up a bit straighter and frowned at me, “Did you say tomorrow?”

“I did.”

He gave a rather hesitant smile. “Thank God.”

I raised a brow, “Ye can thank me there, shrimpy.”

He chuckled. “If it works.”

“Fair enough.” I smiled. “So, I have a plan. And it’s a rather brilliant one, if I do say so myself.”

“Please don’t use that word.”

I laughed. “Yeah, well, you love geniuses, so I think you’ll like this well enough.” I watched the blush creep into his cheeks. “I plan to go back upstairs. Then I’m going order an irresponsible amount of pizza and leave Lestrade to pay for it.”

“Greg,” he grinned at me. “His name is Greg.”

“Right. Ok. Greg can pay for the pizza. And we can eat this excessive amount of junk food, and I’ll let you have soda, which I’ll probably regret a few hours later, and we can watch a movie, and just chill out until you all can’t keep your eyes open any more.”

“What film?”

I chucked him gently under the chin. “I have absolutely no idea, but I’m sure CBBC has something age appropriate.” He wrinkled his nose at that. “Ah, g’wan.” I climbed out of the cupboard, stretching my spine and cracking my neck as I stood. “I’m not letting you near the remote again.”

“Aww. It was one time,” he whinged, stumbling out behind me.

“Then lesson learned, yeah?” I scooped him up without thinking, propping him on my hip so he was eyelevel again. I’d been carrying them all around so much, it only occurred after I’d done it, that he’d never wanted to be picked up before. “Alright?”

He nodded. “Nearly back to normal perspective.” Then he smirked at me. “Nearly, but not quite.”

“You are a bold child,” I told him flatly as I headed back to the stairs. “What kind of pizza do you want?”

“Under no circumstances should there be anchovies.”

“Agreed.”

“You aren’t one of those weird people that puts corn on their pizza, are you?”

I wrinkled my nose. “No. Gross. Why?”

“It’s an Irish thing, isn’t it?”

“Oi!” I scolded him without any venom. “Cheeky too.” I paused as we reached the first landing. “Ready?” Even as he nodded, I could see the resolute look on his face, the stiff upper lip returning, even his shoulders drew back. I sighed, “Right. Doesn’t sound like anyone is on fire.” He huffed out a laugh. Good.

There wasn’t anyone on fire, thankfully. Sherlock was perched on Lestrade’s lap, speaking at a rapid fire pace, his hands waving animatedly. It occurred to me to wonder when he found time to breathe when he was on a tirade. Ah, Sherlock paused mid sentence and sucked in a sharp, deep breath and continued on as though it’d never happened. Lestrade was listening to him, watching his face and hands with a mixture of fascination and alarm.

Jam was still on Sherlock’s chair, exactly where I’d left her. But she was glaring at Mycroft. Trying to burn a hole into the side of his head with just her stare. She wasn’t successful, and Mycroft was doing a fine job of feigning interest in the conversation on the couch. But his eyes occasionally darted at Jam, and there was an odd flush to his cheeks.

“Right,” I announced from the doorway. “Since no one is dead, I’m going to order us some pizza.” All four heads turned to look at me. Well, at me and at John. I gave him an encouraging smile and set him down. “Anyone with preferences better tell me now, or you’ll eat what I order.”

There was a brief cacophony of food items shouted and I nodded at each one, until Mycroft said a very clear, “No cheese.”

I furrowed my brow, “What?”

He looked startled that I’d heard. Jam leaned forward in the chair and hissed, “Don’t be jealous of your brother.”

I frowned at Jam, glanced at Sherlock, who was back in the middle of a sentence, and back at Mycroft. He was very slowly turning red. What? I shook my head. “Great. I’ll order. Greg is paying.”

“What?!”

I grinned at him and stepped out into the hallway to order, not at all surprised when he deposited Sherlock on the sofa and followed me out of the room. He was kind enough to wait until I’d finished the order before talking.

“So.”

“So,” I sighed. “I’m sorry I lost my temper. I’m… I’m not normally that cross.”

His entire face creased as he scratched at the nape of his neck. “No, I was… Sherlock has explained some of the finer points to me. And… God, it’s just weird.”

“What, mini versions of them?” I shook my head slowly. “They’re… I dunno. It’s just… It is weird, yeah.”

“Myc has freckles,” he huffed out.

I snickered. “You should have seen him with glitter paint on his face.

Lestrade laughed. “I don’t know that I could have handled that. Now. Sherlock said you’ve… You’ve figured out how to fix this?”

I nodded slowly. “I hope so. Not until tomorrow. But I think… I’ve my fingers crossed. It’s promising.”

“Good. Ok. Good. Any other plans I should know about?”

I shrugged. “You staying with us? I could use the help.”

“You could use the money,” he said wryly.

“I was kidding,” I protested. “Sort of…”

He laughed again. “Right. So, pizza. What else?”

“Movie? Something kid friendly on TV preferably. And then whatever we can do to make them sleep. I’m not above drugging them tonight. And in the morning, we… Just hope that this thing comes through.”

“Alright. I’ll find a film.” He turned to head back to the sitting room, but paused. “You’re not drugging them.”

I raised a brow. “You’re awfully confident.”

“That wasn’t a request.”

“I’ll consider it.”

He grinned. “You’re a bad doctor.”

“Fuck off.”


	3. Day Three - The Curative Properties of Treats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Look... There is literally no excuse for this. There was no excuse for the first two. It is just 100% ridiculousness. For a THIRD ROUND of this ridiculousness. But like... There's glitter and cuteness and Kevin the intern and BBCThree and sentient magenta ooze and fluorescent green icing. Why WOULDN'T you read this?! I have no idea how this has gotten so out of control. But clearly, we've been missing a few people... Welcome back the whole gang! Welcome a few new members! Because I don't know what is going on anymore.
> 
> _“Something entertaining, Irish?” John asked. He and Sherlock were back in their chairs and the chairs were still pushed together, but the fort of cushions and sheets had been dumped on the floor._
> 
> _“What have I said about that?” I grumbled, sending back a quick acknowledgement._
> 
> _Sherlock grinned. “That you adore it. Why do you adore it so?”_
> 
> _I raised a brow. “How is it you know Jam?”_
> 
> _His face fell into a pout. “You are vicious.”_
> 
> _“I’m a doctor.”_
> 
> _“You’re all annoying. I’m trying to read the paper,” Mycroft muttered from the couch. “Please cease the trivialities.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You don't have to read the first two installments of GGH to enjoy this. But it might make the tiniest more sense. Not that this makes much sense at all. But it gives the story a little bit of context. Though, really... there is no context... this is pure crack.
> 
> This will be 3 chapters total. Apologies for the break again. I was distracted by Christmas writing and the Special... But HEY! We're in 2016 now!!!
> 
> I am so so sorry... Just... I apologize... I think I might have lost it.

I woke up blinking at a ceiling that clearly wasn’t mine and a warm weight pressing into my side. It probably said a lot about me that I checked my watch before bothering to figure out where I was. Just after six. The ceiling, which made more sense when taken in with the surrounding room, belonged to Baker Street, since apparently it was dawning on the third day there; and hopefully the last day. The weight belonged to a small, snoring, and slightly drooling Jam. Great. How was I supposed to get up without waking her?

I sighed and scrubbed at my face. It didn’t sound like anyone else was awake. The fort of pillows and cushions and sheets that piled on top of the combined bucket of John and Sherlock’s chairs was still standing, and it looked as though Sherlock’s foot was poking out of one side. Well, if they were still quiet, I wouldn’t wake them. I slid both hands under Jam and levered myself out from under her, tucking a blanket back around her as I slipped free. Coffee… I needed coffee.

I dropped into the loo before returning to the kitchen and popping on the kettle. I scrubbed at my face for a moment before tugging my shirt straight and frowning at the drool stain on my side. Meh. Not the worst thing I’ve ever had on me. I filled the cafetière and gave it a moment to brew. I wasn’t going to be human until I had a good two cups of coffee in me.

“Tell me that’s strong.”

I jumped and hissed out an angry cuss as Lestrade just gave me a cheeky grin. “I didn’t even hear you come down stairs,” I muttered.

He shrugged. “I didn’t want to wake… the kids,” he finished with an aimless hand gesture.

I tried not to laugh at the way his face twisted around the word. “Solid plan. Milk? Sugar?” I held out a mug.

“How strong is it?”

“Strong enough to burn a hole through anything weaker than a steel trap.” I added a splash of cream to mine.

“Perfect.” He grinned and took a tentative sip. “Nearly as strong as the Met. Tastes better though.”

“Professional courtesy,” I murmured.

“So,” he started.

“So.”

“You have a plan for today?”

I wrinkled my nose. “Why does everyone seem to think I’m the one running the show here?” He shrugged a shoulder in reply. “Yeah, fine. Plan is, don’t let any of them die. Don’t let any of them hurt themselves. Don’t let any of them out of sight. And if I’m really, really lucky, Alex will come through on the delivery from Baskerville.”

“Baskerville,” he growled. “Why am I not surprised.”

“I take it you’ve heard of it?” I raised a brow at the dark expression he wore. Huh. Apparently everyone had heard of it except me. “Right. So. That’s all I’ve got. Oh, and we should probably feed them too.”

He nodded slowly. “But not until they wake up.”

“No,” I smirked. “Not until they wake up.”

I was a tiny bit surprised that the first to wake was John. Not surprised that he was up, just that he was the first. Somehow, I figured it would have been Mycroft. But John stuck his head out of the chair fort and managed to not quite tumble out of it without collapsing the thing on top of Sherlock. He yawned and scratched the back of his head and padded into the kitchen. “Coffee?”

I raised a brow and gave him a look. “Tea.”

He tried to pout and I laughed. “Food?”

“How can you possibly be hungry? You ate an entire pizza by yourself last night.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “I was hungry.”

“C’mon then,” I nodded at one of the empty chairs. “I’ll make you toast.”

He clambered up and propped his chin in his hand as I started to make him breakfast. I rooted around in the cupboards before finding a teapot. “This safe?”

“Probably,” John mumbled.

I studied it for a moment. Didn’t look dirty. Meh. Probably wouldn’t kill them. I dropped in a few tea bags and started the kettle again.

“Coffee?”

“No, Jam,” I said flatly. I didn’t even need to turn around to know she was pouting at me.

“Remember that crack about me being short?” John grinned.

“Not fair!” Jam stomped a foot.

“Totally fair,” I muttered. “Grab a seat and I’ll get you some tea and toast.”

“Coffee?”

“Oh my God! No.” I crossed my arms as I glared at Sherlock. Oh, if he thought the puppy dog eyes would work on me. “No. Not one of you is having coffee. Jesus. I’m a fucking doctor.”

“Maybe I’ll go have a cigarette then,” Sherlock hissed.

Lestrade smacked him up the backside of the head. “You’ll do no such thing.” Sherlock frowned ferociously, but it was far from threatening. And the moment he’d turned his back, Sherlock stuck out his tongue at Lestrade. “I saw that.”

“There is no way you possibly…” Sherlock began to object.

Greg shook his head, stood, scooped Sherlock up and set him in the newly vacated chair. “You’ve never been a morning person,” he said wryly and gave Sherlock’s hair a ruffle. Sherlock looked horrified.

“Mycroft is lazy at this age and won’t get out of bed unless his fat arse is forced!”

I frowned at him, but Lestrade just swatted him again. “Knock it off.”

Jam poked him in the side and he turned and tugged one of the plaits still in her hair. “For fuck’s sake,” I muttered, scooping Jam up and plopping her in one of the chairs. With a small huff, I picked Sherlock up and propped him on my hip. “Enough, yeah?”

He narrowed his eyes at me, “Are you going to force us to watch more children’s animated adventures about anthropomorphized, crime solving rodents in Victorian London? Or is it safe to watch BBC News?”

“That movie is a classic. And it was age appropriate. And you were glued to the screen.” He frowned, but seemed content to simply glare. He’d loved it.

Mycroft took that moment to emerge from Sherlock’s room, still dressed in pajama pants and an inside out tee shirt. Bless him, he looked adorable. Greg was openly staring, and out of the corner of my eye, I caught Jam smirking at the whole thing. Mycroft sniffed blearily, “Is there breakfast?”

“Last one up, Mycroft? You’re slipping,” Sherlock sneered.

I frowned at him. “Hush. Or I’ll put you back in that duck pond.”

“Early bird gets the worm,” Sherlock stuck out his tongue.

“Second mouse gets the cheese,” Mycroft yawned and climbed up into the last remaining chair.

“Probably ought to feed them something other than just toast,” Greg suggested.

I glanced around. “Um… Cereal? I can make some porridge if you guys want?” Four young heads swiveled to give me rather horrified looks.

Sherlock tugged on my ear, “No.” I scowled at him.

“How about pancakes and eggs?” Greg offered.

“Have at, super dad,” I muttered wryly. “Will we go turn on the grown-up news?” I smirked down at Sherlock.

“Anything but Sky. I cannot abide by their anchor.”

“Fair enough.”

We were halfway through the morning broadcast when my mobile buzzed. I glanced at it quickly.

_Have the package. En route. –Ami_

Ah. Good. Right. Excellent.

“Something entertaining, Irish?” John asked. He and Sherlock were back in their chairs and the chairs were still pushed together, but the fort of cushions and sheets had been dumped on the floor.

“What have I said about that?” I grumbled, sending back a quick acknowledgement.

Sherlock grinned. “That you adore it. Why do you adore it so?”

I raised a brow. “How is it you know Jam?”

His face fell into a pout. “You are vicious.”

“I’m a doctor.”

“You’re all annoying. I’m trying to read the paper,” Mycroft muttered from the couch. “Please cease the trivialities.”

“Absolutely, Freckles.” I tried not to laugh at displeased look on his face.

Jam was sitting in the far corner of the couch, which as it turned out, was so she could watch the kitchen and the sitting room at the same time. “I think Greg likes your freckles,” she said innocently.

“Whisht!” I hissed at her. Notions. All of them terrible.

“Right,” Lestrade called from the kitchen. “Come eat your breakfast before it gets cold!”

I probably should have eaten something. At least, something more than a piece of toast, and less than my third cup of coffee. But the kids practically inhaled their food and went back to the sitting room. And I was nervous and it felt like I was holding my breath until Ami and Alex got here. As it was, I nearly jumped out of my skin when my phone buzzed.

_Downstairs. –Ami_

I excused myself and went to answer the door. “Hey, Alex, Ami. Thank God. Come in.”

Ami smiled and flapped a hand at me. “Actually, I’ve gotta run.”

I furrowed my brow. “Really? I-I’ll make you a cuppa. I mean, I know this wasn’t exactly convenient.”

“No, no.” Ami’s smile grew. “I’ve an appointment I cannot miss. Really must be off.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah. Ok. What…”

“Base jumping,” Ami said simply. Then she blew a kiss and bounced down the stairs. “Ciao.”

I shot a worried look at Alex. “Base jumping?”

Alex gave me a wry smile and slipped through the doorway. “So. You’ve got a problem that’s solved by fancy cupcakes?”

“W-what?”

Alex raised a single brow and handed me the neat package of bakery style cupcakes, a single envelope tucked into the twine holding the box closed. “Cupcakes, E. Petits gâteaux. From the Playhouse theatre, via Baskerville, and apparently through an absolute shower of glitter.”

I looked at the package with confusion. Green, glittery cupcakes. What the fuck. “I’m going to have to ring them,” I muttered.

“What even?”

I sighed and bobbed my head toward the stairs. “I’m not even sure I can explain it anymore. You might as well just… Come experience.” I led the way upstairs to the sitting room and did a rapid headcount. Jam was curled up in the far corner of the sofa, napping it looked like. John and Sherlock were still in their chairs. Mycroft was sitting primly on the near end of the couch, reading. And if the noise was any indication, Greg was in the kitchen doing something horrid to the pots. “Right,” I gestured Alex in and set the box on the coffee table. “So, Alex, this is everyone. Everyone, you… probably remember Alex.”

Jam’s head shot up. “ALEX!” Ok, maybe she wasn’t asleep.

Alex blinked. “E… Is that…”

“Yup.”

“What… E, what the hell is even going on? J'y crois pas. Mais qu'est-ce que tu as fait de Jam?!”

Sherlock chuckled and Alex swung around to stare at him. “And,” I gestured at the chairs. “You remember John and Sherlock.”

“Hey, wait!” John squinted at Alex. “You… You are so not a copper!”

“Obviously,” Sherlock muttered. He was promptly hit in the face with a pillow.

“J'ai perdu la tête.”

Mycroft set down his book and stood, tugging his shirt back into place and pulling his spine as straight as possible. “Hoc ex se intellegitur, ut tu demens esse credas. Ego autem tibi te sanum esse promitto.” Even with his chin tipped up, he was still a head shorter than Alex, but he sniffed arrogantly nonetheless. “So you are just a courier.”

Alex’s eyes narrowed at Mycroft. “Me acuerdo de ti. ¿Has perdido peso desde la última vez que hablamos?”

Mycroft bristled. “Non sei altro che uno scontento arrogante.”

“Arrogant? Das ist bloß ziviler Ungehorsam. Ein guter Mensch und ein guter Bürger zu sein ist nicht immer das Gleiche”

I watched the back and forth with interest. I’d lost the train of the conversation somewhere around the Spanish.

“De zwaarste straf voor de weigering om zelf te regeren, is geregeerd te worden door hen die minderwaardig zijn,” Mycroft hissed.

Alex’s head bobbed back and forth as though considering. “Utom våra egna tankar, det finns inget absolut i vår makt.”

John’s face was creased with confusion and he turned to Sherlock, “What the hell are they even saying?” Sherlock shushed him and continued to watch with rapt attention.

“Vær du kjenner, men på ingen måte vulgært,” Mycroft snapped.

“Trzeba umieć być wulgarnym, malować wulgaryzmami.”

“Vul'garnyy tolpa vsegda beretsya po vsemu, i mir sostoit v osnovnom iz vul'garnoy,” Mycroft sneered, taking a step forward.

“Rydym i gyd yn y gwter,” Alex threw back.

“Déanann éadach an fear. Ní mór an tionchar a bhíonn fir nochta ar an saol,” Mycroft said flatly, his features pinching at the necessity of glaring up at Alex.

“And where on earth will you find a child sized umbrella?” Alex grinned down at Mycroft as an expression of fury flashed across his face.

“Oi! What is going on in here?!” Greg demanded. “Who the hell is this?”

Alex pivoted neatly, smacking Mycroft upside the back of his head in a single motion and extended the guilty hand to Lestrade. “Apologies. I’m Alex. Brought the… Well. The package.”

Mycroft’s face was flushed with anger as he smoothed his hair back down and glared at Alex’s back. Lestrade seemed to miss the entire exchange as he shook Alex’s hand. “Ah. Good. That’s good. Thanks for that.”

“De rien.” Alex gave him a wink. “Anyway. I ought to be going.”

“Yeah, Alex. Thanks.” I followed as Alex headed for the stairs. “You know that we can never, never talk about this, right?” I murmured just loud enough for Alex to hear.

“You worry too much.” Alex leaned around me and saluted into the room. “Pleasure as always!”

I watched as Alex took the stairs two at a time and left through the front door. When I turned back to the room, Mycroft was glaring, his fist clenched at his sides, and I got the impression that it wouldn’t look out of place if steam was coming from his ears. “Alright?”

“Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as the night,” he whispered. “And when you move, fall like a thunderbolt.”

Well that was terrifying. Jam knelt forward on the couch and tapped Mycroft’s shoulder. “Greg likes you,” she said quietly and leaned in conspiratorially. Oh no. I knew what she was about to say. “Just fuck already.”

“JAM!” I snapped as Mycroft’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. I scooped her up and tapped her nose with my index finger. “I will wash your mouth out with soap!”

“Boo soap!” She stuck her tongue out at me. “I want a cupcake!”

“You literally just had breakfast,” I chided.

“But it’s a cuuuupcake!”

I raised a brow and tugged the envelope free from the box. “Well, let’s just see what the rules are.”

_E, Sincerest apologies for the disappointing interaction with our products. Please accept the following to rectify the current situation. It is recommended for complete consumption. Reversal is not proportional to volume consumed, but do eat the icing. And be advised that… rectification is rapid. Consider expanding waistlines. Should the rectification not prove satisfactory, please be in touch. PS: IOU one large favor._

Huh.

I folded the note and crammed it into my pocket. John nudged my hip with his shoulder, “Is that what I think it is?”

“I hope so.” I pulled a face. “Right.” I sucked in a breath. “So, who wants a cupcake?” I opened the box and pulled out the first one. Jesus, it was a shade of unnatural green and glittering like none other.

Mycroft arched a brow. “This is what Baskerville has come up with?”

“That does not look sound,” Sherlock wrinkled his nose.

I held it up to Jam and she pulled back, “I dunno.”

“You wanted a cupcake,” I said, shaking it at her. “You want to taste it first?” Her entire face scrunched up as she shook her head. I glanced over my shoulder at Lestrade. “You want to help me here?”

Greg propped his shoulder against the wall next to the kitchen and crossed his arms. “I’m enjoying this. Keep on, you’ll get it eventually.”

I frowned at him. “Thanks.”

“E?” John tugged my shirt. “I can.” He stepped back and squared his shoulders. “Do I… Do I just eat it?”

I bit my lip. “Sounds like it. But,” I eyed the pajamas he was wearing. “So. It. I think it works fast? I don’t know if you don’t want to wear something… bigger?”

He tugged on the hem of his tee shirt and huffed out a laugh. “Right.” He scampered up the stairs.

“You aren’t actually going to let him eat that?” Sherlock demanded.

“It’s supposed to fix you,” I said bluntly.

Mycroft narrowed his eyes, “Can’t imagine you want to grow up again.”

“But we don’t know if it’ll work,” Sherlock insisted.

“They think it will.”

“They’re _IDIOTS!_ ” Sherlock snapped at me.

“You think everyone is an idiot,” John said with a smile, both of his hands fisted in the waistband of too-large sweatpants.

I tried not to laugh at the picture he painted, dressed in his own clothes that didn’t fit him. “You sure?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t have to.”

He gave me a stern look, “Someone has to.”

“Right. Ok.” I handed him the cupcake. “Apparently, you just have to eat the whole thing.”

He nodded and peeled off the paper holder. “I wonder if Alice ever felt like this.” He forced a small smile then stuffed the entire cupcake in his mouth and choked it down.

“Alright?”

His face pinched. “Apple flavored.” Sherlock let out a nervous sigh and John flashed him a grin. “See?” He went to hold out his arms, but nearly lost his trousers and was forced to keep one hand on the waist.

“E?” Jam scooched up closer to my side. “He looks kinda green.”

I frowned and ended up doing a double take. John’s skin had a slightly ill tint to it; a bit sallow, maybe shimmering, and definitely a bit green. “You ok?”

John winced, his face twisting as he clutched at his stomach.

“John?” I reached for his shoulder as he doubled over.

He grunted and heaved a breath and straightened. “No, I’m good. I’m fine.” He wasn’t fine. He face went a disturbing shade of green. “Fine,” he caught himself mid breath. Oh shit, he was going to vomit. “N-no.”

“John?” Sherlock reached out tentatively.

I saw the gagging motion, and John took off at a run, skidding into the kitchen and nearly tripping over the hems of his trousers. “Shit,” I hissed, taking off after him, shoving Jam into Greg’s arms. “Take her.” I darted through the kitchen. “John?” I tried the bathroom door. Little shit had locked it. “John! Open the door!” Bedroom. There was a door in the bedroom. And it was unlocked. I cracked the door, “John. Ok?”

“Hm… Yeah. I’m good.”

It didn’t occur to me until I saw him that his voice was… normal. Adult. Had dropped to his usual timbre. I blinked down at him where he was sitting on the floor with his back propped against the tub. It must have taken more than a few seconds before I really understood. “Hey?”

He squinted up at me for a moment then smiled, “E.” I sucked in my lower lip and tried really hard not to laugh. “What’s so funny?”

“You uh…” I gestured to his face. “It’s… You’re… I don’t know… Glittering?”

He pushed up from the floor and wobbled. I rushed forward to catch his arm. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Little bit taller than I was a minute ago.” Then he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. “The hell?”

“Like you took a bath in body shimmer,” I murmured. He shot me a dark look. “Not the first time I’ve seen you like that,” I grinned. Then he was doubled over again, giggling like an idiot.

Eventually, he caught his breath, and regained his composure. “Come on. I’m probably scaring the piss out of Sherlock.”

“Thought you were going to lose your lunch there for a second.”

“Oh,” he pulled a face as we crossed the kitchen. “Food bolus. I ate it too fast.”

“You little idiot,” I chuckled. “Warned you about that.”

“Shut it, Irish.”

“John?”

It was a small voice, and John froze, staring down at Sherlock. He glanced at me, “This is so weird. How did you manage?”

I shrugged. “Dunno. I’ll have a breakdown later, for sure.”

John grinned again and scooped Sherlock up into a hug. “Ok, you. When I say you have to eat, this time I mean it.”

“Right, divide and conquer?” I handed John one of the cupcakes and he headed for Sherlock’s room. “Greg, I can take…” Lestrade was blushing. I gave Jam a suspicious look as I took her back, “You have to stop.”

“What?”

I didn’t buy the innocent expression for a second. I handed Greg a cupcake. “You want to take Mycroft upstairs?”

“Are we sure this is safe?” Mycroft arched a brow at the luminous green frosting.

“Make sure you chew your food and you’ll be fine.”

“He’s still kinda green,” Jam pointed out.

Greg scrunched his face, “And… shimmering.”

I picked up the fourth cupcake and used it to gesture at Mycroft. “I’m happy to leave you like this. I’m sure Anthea will give you a fair allowance, and Greg will only ground you when you get too lippy with the teachers in primary school.”

A shudder of revulsion tracked down Mycroft’s spine. “Repulsive.”

“Exactly,” I bobbed my head at the stairs. “Your suit is up in John’s room. Off you go. And eat _ALL_ of it.”

He sighed dramatically and headed out. Greg raised his brows, “You’re sure?”

“Not in the least.”

“Right.” He gave me a nod, frowned at Jam, and followed Mycroft up the stairs.

“Now, you,” I set Jam down and tossed her a sheet. “Eat the damn cupcake.”

She grinned at me and stuck a finger in the middle of the frosting. “Why apple?”

“Take it up with Kevin. I’m sure he had something to do with it. Now eat.”

She stuck her tongue out at me, but started eating the cake while stripping off bits of clothes. I turned my back to collect the remaining cupcakes and tried not to laugh at the little bird shaped marzipan – must be for Three. I folded up the box and pulled out my mobile, scrolling through the calls from the previous afternoon. Right. Had to be done. I pushed send. The line connected without a greeting and I could hear background chatter and squealing and running.

“Um… Hello?”

“Ah. I was about to call you.” The receiver was muffled for a moment, but I was quite sure I heard a high-pitched, lisping threat of disembowelment, followed by a low growl. Then he was back. “Apologies.”

“De rien,” I said absently. “I have a fix. Um... That definitely works.”

“Excellent. I’ll be by in an hour.” There was a loud crash and a muted sigh. “Two hours.”

“Um.” I glanced back towards Sherlock’s room. “I don’t think I’m going to be _here_ , here in two hours. I could meet you…” Oh God, I don’t want to meet him on my own. He might kill me. Where, where? Somewhere public. “Somewhere central?” I offered.

“Central works,” he growled. “Text me a time and place.”

“Yeah. Ok. Alright.” I swallowed. “Two hours.”

“Please don’t be late.” The threat was implied as he disconnected the line.

Right. I sighed. Ok. I turned back into the sitting room as Jam was tugging her sweater back on.

“How do I look?”

“Like the adult you’ve never been,” I grinned. “And a bit glittery and green actually.”

She looked at her hands. “Wonder how long that will last. Ah well.”

“Feeling ok?”

“Ye, fairly normal.”

I chuckled. “Normal for you? Or normal for everyone else?” She stuck her tongue out then joined me laughing. There was a haughty sniff and we both stopped sharply. “Ah,” I straightened back up. “Alright there, Freckles?” Jam busted out in giggles again.

With all the dignity he could muster, Mycroft raised a single brow and tilted his head. “That is quite enough.”

I was about to point out that there was a lovely verdigris shimmer to his skin when I saw Lestrade shake his head sharply. I bit back a smile, “No, absolutely, you’re right.” Jam managed to rein in the chuckles. “All ok?”

Somehow his eyebrow rose higher, and I recognized an answer when I saw one.

“Well, this has been an enjoyable holiday, and I’ll thank you all to get out of my flat.” I spun around and had to crane my neck to look up at Sherlock’s face where he’d stopped only a foot from me. I’d forgotten how tall he actually was, and his voice was almost shockingly deep. He studied my face for a moment, and I wondered what he was trying to parse. Apparently he was happy enough with whatever he’d discovered, because the corner of his mouth quirked. “You too, Doctor. We aren’t opening a surgery and I’m afraid these rooms are already taken.”

“Sherlock,” John scolded. “Don’t be rude. I have to work with E every now and then.”

I took a step back anyway. “I’ll just grab my bags, so.” And two minutes later, I had my med bag and duffle in hand. Greg and Mycroft were at the front door having a hushed conversation that Jam was watching a little too closely from the landing. I poked my head into the sitting room. “Uh… Lads?”

It looked like Sherlock tried to smirk and scowl at the same time. “Though an improvement over ‘children,’ I do prefer you find a more suitable designation.”

John snorted. “You off then, E?”

“Yeah… I should… Am-scray.” I shrugged up a shoulder. “I’m pretty wrecked and I’m working tomorrow.”

“Oh?” John looked surprised. I raised my brows at him. “Oh. Oh shit. You’re in for Mal, aren’t you?”

I nodded, “See you tomorrow then?” John sighed heavily and nodded. “Good news is that you don’t look… Green anymore. The glittery thing, though…” John huffed out a laugh, so I grinned. “Well, not exactly new for you.”

“Out,” he pointed at the door, but there was no heat behind his order.

“I’m going. Sherlock, pleasure to meet you finally, and meet, you know, you you. John talks about you at work all the time.”

“Out!” John bit back a laugh.

“Yeah, yeah.” I headed down the stairs, grabbing Jam’s shoulder as I passed. “C’mon. We should go before…”

“Dr. Murphy,” Mycroft interrupted me, placing himself between us and the door. “Are you off home? I have a car waiting outside. I would be remiss if I did not return you, having rather interrupted your week.”

“I uh…” I glanced at Jam. See, this is what I’d wanted to avoid.

“Of course your friend as well,” he smiled at Jam in a way that was certainly not benign.

“Oh, we live…” I gestured haphazardly, “In sort of, opposite…”

“I rather insist,” he said flatly.

“Right,” I smiled weakly. “I’m… Heading toward Covent Garden?”

“Excellent,” Mycroft tilted his head. “I believe Gregory is returning to the Met. Perhaps you could share the car.”

“I…” The look I was getting meant that I wasn’t going to wiggle my way out of it. “O-ok.”

“Ms.,” his face twisted slightly, “Jam, and I will share the other car.”

Jam blushed. But the fear quickly waned as she started to smile. “Aye.”

“Jam, no,” I hissed as Lestrade opened the door and waved us outside.

“Jam, yes!” she countered with a grin.

“No! Jam, do not!”

She winked at me as she ducked into the front car. Oh God. I sighed and slid into the second car, Lestrade pulling the door closed behind himself. “So, what’s in Covent Garden?”

I blinked innocently. “Coffee.”

An hour later, I sat at the table in the middle of Covent Garden, slowly spinning my coffee cup on the table. It was the safest place I could come up with on short notice. Safe because it was incredibly public, and incredibly busy, and incredibly central. And I made no qualms about sitting directly in the line of sight of about five CCTV cameras. And I had very little doubt that Mycroft Holmes was keeping tabs on all of us for the foreseeable future.

“Hello.”

I started as he slid into the seat across from me, giving a lazy and rather predatory grin. I cleared my throat uncomfortably. “Seb. How’s Kevin?”

“Partially clothed.”

He looked almost fond. Almost. As in, he might not strangle me in public. As long as Kevin was still alive and unharmed by the temper I’d heard from Jim… I nodded and stooped, rummaging in my bag for the small box. I popped up, narrowly avoiding cracking my head on the table and slid it across to him. “The bird thing is for the cat.”

Seb opened the box and stared at the contents with wry amusement. “This?”

I nodded. “Make sure they eat all the frosting.”

“Cupcakes?”

“Yeah,” I squirmed in the chair. “The only other piece of advice I got, other than the frosting thing, is that it works… quickly. Like, seconds not minutes. So, make sure they’re not wearing anything… restrictive?”

“I see.” He kept studying me. It was a different sort of gaze than Sherlock or Mycroft. And it made me infinitely more uncomfortable. My face flushed. “You’re a squirrely thing, aren’t you.”

I frowned. “Just up to my weird quota for the week, really.”

He flashed a smile. “If this doesn’t work…”

“Something about disemboweling?” I offered with a nervous laugh.

“Nothing so quick.” His grin was not reassuring. “You painted my cat.”

I shook my head. “I was busy trying to get Kevin in clothes. I promise.” He raised a brow and I found myself holding out my hands in a placating manner. “I’m allergic to cats. I wouldn’t be able to be near Three without wheezing.”

The corner of his mouth quirked. “Pity.” He looked back at the box. “Fucking crackpots… Bloody cupcakes.”

I swallowed heavily. “They work.”

His eyes narrowed, then he nodded and stood. “Afternoon."

“Um. Bye.”

He started to walk away, but paused, setting the tips of his fingers on the table in front of me. I startled, leaning away as he stooped and whispered, “I will call.” Then he disappeared into the lunchtime crowd. It took at least five minutes for me to breathe normally again. And even then, I had to scrub at the back of my neck before I shook the feeling of being watched.

I waited until he was long gone before pulling out my mobile. Public place or not, that guy just gave me the creeps. I punched in the number and swirled the dregs of my coffee around the cup as I listened to the ring.

“Baskerville product support and complaints department, how can I help you?”

“E?” I began.

“E!” she replied. “Did it work?”

“Yeah. But everyone was a bit... Sparkly and green.”

"Complementary colors."

I chuckled. “But… cupcakes?”

She hummed in amusement. “Buttercream is the most stable, edible medium we’ve come across.”

“That must have been a fun day in the lab.”

“I only run the help line.”

“Right.” I didn’t believe that for a second. “So, you know that favor you mentioned?”

“Yes,” she said slowly.

“I have an idea.” I started grinning in spite of myself. “And I really think you’re going to like it.”

“Oh good.”

~o~

I threw the car into park and groaned, rubbing my eyes with the heels of my hands. Four nights in a row and a horribly potent seasonal vomiting bug in London made me a very tired doctor. After a moment of gathering myself, I pushed out of the car and headed for my flat. Sleep. I needed like a year of sleep. I mean, if one more person tried to vomit on me…

I unlocked my front door and kicked it shut behind me, dropping my bag at the base of the coatrack. I could come back for it later. I needed a cup of coffee and a shower and bed. And as it was just gone eight in the morning, the order didn’t really seem all that relevant anymore. I staggered into my kitchen. Coffee first. Always coffee first. I filled the kettle and flicked it on, propping my head in my hands and my elbows on the counter. I could probably fall asleep standing. I closed my eyes for a moment. Coffee. Shower. Sleep. I repeated it in my head.

“Good morning.”

“Jesus fucking Christ!” I jumped enough that I whacked the back of my head off the overhanging cupboards. “Fuck. Shit. Bugger.” I rubbed the lump as I turned to glare. “What the sodding hell?”

Greg Lestrade grinned from where he was leaning against the kitchen doorframe. “And lovely to see you too.” There was something wrong with his smile. It looked… angry.

“The fuck are you doing in my flat?” I grumbled. Jesus, I needed that scare like I needed a hole in my head.

“See? How do you like it?”

“What?”

He uncrossed his arms, still looked pissed off though. “I thought we might have a little chat.”

I frowned. “Is that glitter on your coat?”

He snapped his fingers and pointed at me, the smile growing. “Funny you should ask.”

Oh no. Last night?

“Come on,” he held out his hand and gestured at the door.

I sighed and looked sadly at my kettle as it clicked off. “Can I sleep on the way?” The way his smile faltered looked a bit like a snarl. Right. Ok. Fine. I sighed again and followed him outside, sending a quick text on the way. There was a posh looking black car pulled up at the curb. Great. I climbed rather gracelessly in, a bit relieved to find it empty. “What, his majesty couldn’t bother coming down himself?”

Lestrade pulled the door closed and scowled at me. “Shut it.”

I threw my hands up and then crossed my arms. Fine. If he was going to be a jerk again… I tucked my knees up and rested my head against the side of the car. No talking was fine by me. And I made use of my well-practiced skill of sleeping just about anywhere.

“Up.”

I grumbled as he gave my shoulder a shake, but managed to open my eyes and stumble out of the car. It took a few minutes, following close on his heels, before I was actually awake. I furrowed my brow. “This isn’t the Met.”

“No, it’s not,” he said flatly.

Oh. Ok then. “Should I bother asking…”

“Nope.”

I sighed. Then stalled as he opened the door to a room. I hadn’t even noticed the door. Where did that come from?

“In,” he said firmly.

Right. I stepped into the room and blinked at the round table and people seated in the chairs. Who and Nicole. Fleur. Alex. Ami. Where was Jam? Mycroft was standing in the far corner, his back to the room, rocking ever-so-slightly on his heels as he spoke lowly into a mobile. “What do you mean you cannot find her? She was there moments ago… Your competence is alarmingly poor.”

“Sit.”

I dropped into the nearest chair. “What up?” I gave everyone a tired smile.

“Apparently, we’re in trouble,” Fleur tried not to smile. She failed. But she tried.

“Oh?”

“Mmn hm,” Traci hummed. “Cannot imagine why.”

“Oh, you could,” Nicole grinned. “That’s the best part.”

Alex drummed fingers against the table as though bored. “Si ça échoue lamentablement, je ne vous le pardonnerai jamais! And why are you wearing that?”

Ami shrugged. “Can’t say.”

“Do you really think it’s the best idea having them all here in one room?” Lestrade hissed. I frowned at him the same time that Mycroft glared at me. Yikes.

“Gregory, this is not some hodge podge investigation. I rather insist we have them all here.”

Mycroft had glitter on his shoes. I stared at it for a moment, then glanced back up at Mycroft and raised an eyebrow. “Decorating?” Mycroft frowned violently and I tried not to flinch. “I miss the freckles.” It was Lestrade’s turn to glare at me and I sighed. I was too tired for this. My verbal filters were pretty well shot and no one was giving me coffee. I felt the inappropriate welling up inside. “Who do I have to screw to get a cup of coffee around here?”

“Dammit Jim, I’m a baker! Not a barista!” Traci blurted out. Alex grinned and snorted. Nicole giggled. Then the whole table was laughing.

“ENOUGH!” Lestrade barked.

I rolled my eyes at him, and for the briefest moment, he had an air of violence about him. But the door pushed open, and Anthea entered, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor. And for the first time I could ever remember, she looked flustered. Not a hair out of place, but her mobile was nowhere in sight, and she was dragging Jam by the upper arm.

As much as Anthea looked flustered, Jam was in a right state. “Jam, the hell?”

She shrugged, plucked a few leaves out of her hair, and trudged over to one of the remaining empty chairs, her shoes squidging on the floor the whole way over. “I had a bad day.”

Anthea glared at Jam and huffed out an expletive as Mycroft dismissed her, “Thank you, my dear. That will be all for the moment.”

“Why does it smell like a barn in here?” Ami asked rather absently.

Jam snickered. I shot her a look, but there were twigs and pine needles in her hair, and I started laughing too. Mycroft sat carefully in the last remaining seat. “I wouldn’t think arrest is a laughing matter, Dr. Murphy.”

I stopped laughing. “Arrested?”

“No one told me I was being arrested,” Jam complained.

“Didn’t get Mirandized myself,” Nicole objected.

Greg frowned. “This isn’t the States,” he grumbled.

“What would you even arrest us for?” Alex asked.

“Maybe it’s our arresting personalities,” Traci offered.

Greg leaned over the table, planting his knuckles against the wood. “I said, Enough!”

Fleur patted the top of his hand. “Never change.”

His face discolored. Oh no. We were saved a tirade only by a light rap on the door. Lestrade shot Mycroft a puzzled look, to which Mycroft flicked his hand, “You might as well answer that.”

Lestrade grumbled and yanked the door open with unnecessary force. “What?” he snapped.

“Good morning,” the woman said politely and brushed past him right into the room. I tried not to smile at the agitation on Greg’s face… and on Mycroft’s.

Mycroft narrowed his eyes at her. “To what do we owe this visit, Ms…”

It took me a moment to realize that Mycroft had no idea who she was. Or why she was there. Or what was coming. She flicked her shoulder-length blonde hair back with a practiced motion and plucked a small card from the pocket of her neat, pinstriped, three-piece suit. “Ms. Lindbergh, please, Mr. Holmes.” She held the card between two fingers and raised a brow at Lestrade until he accepted it. “Barrister.”

“Regretti Vanetti?” Lestrade’s face twisted in disbelief as he read off the card.

“And partners,” she finished for him. “Our offices are located on the first floor, just over a rather lovely Italian restaurant on Northumberland.” If I didn’t know better, I would think I was listening to a sales pitch.

“They make a mean spaghetti,” Nicole whispered. Traci giggled.

“Shut it,” I hissed.

The lawyer didn’t so much as flinch. “It is one of our smaller, British branches. Our main hub, in Texas, is rather well equipped digitally, and I’ve asked our webmaster to record this session remotely. Please say hello to the partners, ladies.”

This was getting better by the second.

She pulled a small tablet from her briefcase, tapped it a few times, and smiled lightly as the screen behind us lit up. I almost choked on the laugh I smothered when I caught sight of Vanetti wearing a very unnecessary, though professional looking headset, suit and tie, and adjusting the screen of her laptop. I briefly wondered where she found an office to skype from. Then I saw the swish of a familiar looking tabby tail and had to bite back another laugh. “Good morning, Ms. Vanetti. Quite early there, is it not?”

Mycroft didn’t seem terribly impressed. Or rather, he was impressed, but displeased that someone hacked the projector. “Ms. Lindbergh, that is quite enough.”

“That’s Ms. Lindbergh _esquire_.” Vanetti smiled brightly on the screen. Greg’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head, but Mycroft only arched a brow.

Ms. Lindbergh adjusted her glasses primly and smiled sweetly. It was like one of those smiles that I’d seen Mycroft try in polite society, but instead of looking forced, hers was wonderfully benign. “Now if you don’t mind, I’d like you to release my clients or formally press charges.”

Mycroft frowned horrifically. “Which one is your client?”

This time when she smiled, her teeth showed. “All of them.”

“That’s ridiculous. Why would they have a lawyer?” Greg blurted out.

“Why would you arrest them?”

I was enjoying this.

“Because someone,” Greg crossed his arms angrily, glaring at me. I frowned. What did I do? “Broke into my flat and redecorated last night. Something they have a bad habit of doing. And as I’m sure you’re aware, breaking and entering is still illegal.” Ah. That. Well…

Ms. Lindbergh looked completely unbothered. “Ms. Vanetti, will you please queue the tape?”

“My pleasure,” Vanetti answered. Her face disappeared from the screen and a collection of color photos flashed by in rapid succession.

“I believe this is the issue at hand?”

Greg looked horrified. The pictures disappeared as quickly as they’d popped up, but not before I caught glimpses of glitter and confetti and post-it notes in a flat I’d never seen before. And, what looked like nondescript, black and white, CCTV footage started playing. I blinked as I recognized the floor of my ED. Oh man. This was excellent.

“As you can see,” Ms. Lindbergh said kindly. “Dr. Murphy was on shift last night. And did you leave the hospital between eight pm and half seven in the morning, Dr. Murphy?”

“I did not.” I grinned.

“And we have the entirety of her shift on tape to confirm this.” The feed changed to an unedited reel of Great British Bakeoff, live and in color, with Traci flying around a massive looking cake in the shape of a dalek, slapping on layer upon layer of buttercream before busying herself rolling out metallic looking fondant with an intense look of concentration on her face.

“And this was filmed yesterday evening, was it not?”

“It was,” Traci smiled. “And I got on to the next round. Though… I don’t think they’re planning on airing this for a bit yet.”

“Wonderful,” Ms. Lindbergh smiled. “Congratulations.”

The feed changed again. Security footage from… Buckingham Palace?!

“Where did you get this?” Mycroft demanded coolly.

She didn’t answer, just raised a brow as Fleur appeared on the screen, carrying an armful of flower crowns. Which she then proceeded to place on the heads of any of the stuffed animals she could find, culminating in a precious pirouette and the crowning of a very large, stuffed bear.

“Fleur? What the hell?” I muttered.

“They looked sad,” she said simply.

“And as you can see,” Ms. Lindbergh chimed in. “Ms. Fleur was in the company of the palace guard for the duration of the evening, were you not.”

“Yup,” Fleur nodded.

I groaned as a picture of the guard at the gates flickered on the screen, complete with a black flower crown atop his bearskin. “Good Lord.”

“Shall I continue?” our lawyer asked politely.

“By all means,” Lestrade waved a hand. I thought I saw Mycroft roll his eyes. I was probably enjoying this way too much.

“As you wish.” She tapped a few more keys and a very colorful image popped up. “Here is Leake Street. Did you know they held the third Cans Festival last night?”

I shot a look at Nicole. She blinked innocently and held up a hand. “I did!” There was spray paint coating her hand and arm.

“And your contribution was lovely,” Ms Lindbergh smiled. I buried my face in my hands as I recognized the image.

“What,” Greg frowned at the screen and threw out a hand. “Is that supposed to be?”

Ms. Vanetti flashed back onto the screen. “Are you familiar with WT and his canon?”

I cleared my throat to hide my smile. Ms. Lindbergh shook her head slowly and Vanetti pouted, but the artwork reappeared on the screen and she could continue. “And how long were you working on your piece, Precious Potato?”

“All night,” Nicole grinned.

“Did you know,” Ms. Lindbergh began, “That Alex does an amazing amount of philanthropic work?”

Alex smirked. Mycroft narrowed his eyes, “I did not.”

“Mmn. And Alex was rather busy in Calais for the past few days, were you not?”

Alex shrugged, “De rien.”

“I suppose you have proof of that?” Lestrade crossed his arms.

Ms. Lindbergh gave a polite smile. “Interestingly enough, the British government is quite obsessed with surveillance in that area.” She tapped a few more buttons and Alex could be seen near the fences and tents. “So yes, of course I do.”

“What about that one?” Greg demanded angrily, waving a hand at Ami.

Ami tilted her head. “I really can’t say, Sir.”

“Unfortunately, we cannot comment,” Ms. Lindbergh added.

“What?” Greg barked. “What do you mean, you can’t say?!”

Mycroft pressed the tips of his fingers together and tilted his head. “It means that she really cannot say.”

Ms. Lindbergh nodded. “Clearly.”

“Fine. Right. Fine. But that one!” He pointed viciously at Jam. “There were notes with her hand writing everywhere!”

Jam shifted in her chair rather uncomfortably. I frowned at her, “Jam, you didn’t.”

“No!” She threw up both hands. “I totally didn’t. I was… I um…”

Ms. Lindbergh flicked a few more keys. “Unfortunately, she was having a difficult evening.”

I watched the screen as CCTV of the tube appeared. With Jam. Front and center. Stuck in the doors of one of the cars. “Jam,” I snickered. At some point, she must have gotten clear of the doors, but the next clip was her exiting the train and running straight into one of the pylons. “Oh my God,” I mumbled.

Jam buried her face in her hands.

More clips: Jam managed to get out of the tube station, and nearly got hit by a bus, and stumbled into a hedge. Ms. Lindbergh cleared her throat, “There is a good deal of time spent in that particular hedge.” She started fast-forwarding.

“That hedge?” I hissed.

Jam shrugged. “Hedges are dangerous.”

Ah, there was the second, third, fourth hedge. “Jesus, Jam.” She stumbled backwards from a bridge, down an embankment into a small stream. A fifth hedge. “What is it with you and hedges?” And one glorious clip of Jam running across an open square and accidentally smacking into the back flank of a mounted officer’s horse. Well, that explained the smell. I sighed and shook my head.

“As you can see,” Ms. Lindbergh continued. “She was… occupied… for the duration of the evening.” Greg grumbled something unintelligible, and Mycroft sighed angrily. “Now, I believe my clients and I shall be leaving.”

Mycroft tipped his head in acquiescence, and Greg glared at him. “You’re just going to let them go?”

“Clearly, they were all occupied.”

“And thank you for your time,” Vanetti grinned from the screen for a moment before it went blank.

Ms. Lindbergh slid the tablet back into her briefcase and snapped it shut. “Come along,” she called, heading out the door and into the hall.

I watched as my friends trailed after her, one by one. I sighed and pushed up from my chair; time to go home. “Oh, and Dr. Murphy?” I froze with one hand on the doorframe, turning back towards Mycroft. “I will be in touch.”

Why did everyone keep saying that? “Right, I’m sure you will,” I nodded. “Fair enough. Can I ask a favor?”

Mycroft raised a brow.

I looked up at Lestrade. “Next time you have someone break into my flat when I’m post call, can you at least wait until I have a cup of coffee before scaring the ever-loving shit outta me?” Lestrade scowled. “I tend to be more accommodating.”

Mycroft smirked. “Quite.”

Then I headed out, scampering to catch up with the group as we emerged onto the London streets. Ah. Pall Mall. Of course. I stretched and turned my face up toward the rare sun.

“How on earth did that just happen?” Traci asked, glancing at our lawyer.

“Yeah,” Nicole frowned at the rather nondescript building. “I didn’t know we had an attorney.”

Fleur found the nearest CCTV camera and very clearly mouthed, “Never change you glorious idiot!”

Alex clapped her on the shoulder and chuckled. “So, Ami, qu’est-ce que tu fais?”

Ami blinked. “I couldn’t say.”

Jam broke down in giggles.

“Well that was fun.”

I turned and smiled, sticking out my hand. “Darcy, you were fucking brilliant. I’m SO glad you could show up on short notice.”

“My pleasure,” she winked and shook my hand.

“By the way,” I grinned. “How’d you and Lesley get an office on such short notice?”

“Oh…” Darcy shifted, biting her lip. “Called in a favor with Three, actually.”

“Was that the BBC office?” Jam blurted out.

Darcy shrugged. “Maybe. Now. You want to tell me what that was all about?”

I blushed. “Uh… It’s a long story.”

“E,” Jam crossed her arms. “You know.”

“Know what?”

“C’mon, E. You know.”

“I might.” I considered for a moment before breaking into a wide smile. “But you know the rules, Jam. Pics or it didn’t happen.”

**Author's Note:**

> So... I got sucker punched by real life... I am going to finish this, it's nearly done, but just... I'm sorry. A few more days.


End file.
